The Necromancer
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: BtVS,HP,Ats xover. The High Necromancer shall arise, so it has been foreseen. Hermione becomes entangled in Voldemort's plans and takes on dark powers that will allow her to control the dead, including vampires. S5 Ats; AU PostOotP. On Hold.
1. Prologue: Soul Snatching

**Disclaimer: I don't own it, so don't sue.**

**Setting: This will be taking place after _Order of the Phoenix_****and during the last episode of _Angel._ The Scoobies play a large part, as does Angel's crew.**

**_The Necromancer_**

**Prologue: Soul Snatching**

Bellatrix Lestrange approached the body slowly, staring down at the man with a raised brow. His death had been violent, as was obvious from his wounds, but somehow a small, soft smile remained on his face. He looked younger than he had in the troubled month before, which was apparent from the muggle picture she'd seen of him.

Bellatrix mocked that tiny smile and her eyes glimmered in glee. Corpses could be so very attractive, especially if it was the forgotten shell of a tragic hero. Too bad she didn't get to play with him before he died. Such a pity. . . .

She reached down and touched his cheek. It was not very cold, proof that he had been a corpse for only a short time. This was good. He was fresh. Perhaps. . . Perhaps, her lord could still make use of him.

"Bella," said evil himself. Lord Voldemort stepped into the dim light of the room, Wormtail scurrying behind him like the rat he was.

"My lord." Bellatrix welcomed him with perfect reverence. "The watcher was dead when I arrived, my Dark Lord."

Voldemort looked the body over, loathing this unknowing victim. "Then we must take the information the hard way. After all, watchers are difficult to find these days." He gestured toward the shadows. "Dementor, come to me."

The dark, hooded figure floated toward the body. Wormtail hid even further behind his lord. Voldemort smiled so coldly that the creature cocked its covered head in curiosity.

"I have a task for you, my gluttonous servant. I have fed you so well in the past, now you must restrain yourself. Take the fleeing soul from this body but do not devour it."

"The soul re-remains?" Wormtail asked.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort hissed. "I have seen enough death to know that the soul struggles a short while before leaving. Though the watcher's body is destroyed, his soul must wait for the mind to die before it can move on."

"So, this man may still be of use." Bellatrix released a short laugh. "His soul carries the answers we seek, surely! Victory is yours, my lord."

"Indeed. Souls can not lie," he answered. Voldemort looked upon the Dementor. "Give him your kiss before it is too late. Then deliver his soul to me. I shall show you where it is to be stored."

The Dementor knelt down over the body to perform his dark task. Wormtail whimpered in fear at the sight, and Bellatrix shot the weak wizard a look of disgust. However, Lord Voldemort was completely absorbed in the evil creature's embrace.

"Yes," Voldemort whispered in ecstasy. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, you fool. You will serve me still."

* * *

Across the ocean, Harry Potter smiled wickedly in his sleep before screaming himself awake. 


	2. Chapter 1: Voices and Prophecies

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

**_The Necromancer_**

**Chapter 1: Voices and Prophecies**

Harry rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a thud. He caught his breath and listened. Silence.

The Dursley's were still asleep, or at least pretending to be. They had gotten use to Harry's nightmares. At first they had criticized, but they had finally resolved to ignore him, partly because they knew that something big was going on in the wizarding world. They were under the belief that if they ignored it, it would go away. Unfortunately for Harry, that was not the case.

He couldn't ignore the dreams. He couldn't ignore the memories. He couldn't ignore the voices, especially Sirius' voice.

Had the Order been paying more attention, they would have noticed that Harry had been especially quiet as of late. He hadn't mailed them asking for information. He hadn't even mailed his friends. His replies to their letters were curt and typical. His time was now split between doing chores for the Dursleys and listening--listening for those voices.

They had been faint at first, he hadn't even noticed them when he left school, but now they were louder. Now, he could distinguish between the voices. He was surprised to find them familiar. They were the voices from beyond the veil.

But in recent weeks, Voldemort had also been making appearances in his dreams. The Dark Lord was not torturing people in his dreams, he was _talking_ to the voices. Though Voldemort knew the young wizard could see inside his mind, he did not sense Harry on these nights because Harry wasn't listening from Voldemort's point of view, but through the veil itself.

In his dreams, Harry had heard Voldemort asking the veil questions. He asked Sirius a few about some group called the watchers and a book that remained untitled. Harry knew he should have told the Order, but he couldn't bring himself to admit he could hear the dead in the veil, that he knew that those souls had not been able to move on yet. They'd think him mad.

Tonight, though, he would have to confess. Voldemort had put a new soul in the veil to question the unfortunate. He had trapped a being. As much as it pained Harry, he had to tell Dumbledore.

Harry picked up a parchment and began to write.

* * *

_Hogwarts_

* * *

The Headmaster of Hogwarts had been up for quite a few hours when he heard an owl tapping at his office window. He recognized the bird and let it in at once. Dumbledore stroked Hedwig's feathers, feeding her a biscuit as he unfolded the letter. He had been afraid he would not hear from Harry until the first semester of school, but he was not foolish enough to think the letter in his hands was written in friendship. Something was wrong.

He read over the scratchy handwriting quickly before leaving the office for the Great Hall. Indeed, something was wrong. His summer staff, composed mainly of Order members would have to be alerted at once.

As predicted, he found Minerva McGonagall and Sybil Trelawney in a spat over the significance of an odd shaped blueberry. The two were sitting at the faculty table. Flitwick was between them, trying to enjoy his breakfast. Like clockwork, Severus Snape walked through the side door, a look of distaste on his face. The Professors noticed the Headmaster at the same time.

"Albus, is everything alright?" Minerva asked.

Dumbledore handed her the letter from Harry, and the other Professors tried to glance over her shoulder.

"Voices?" Flitwick asked. "From the veil?"

"It is as I predicted!" Professor Trelawney moaned.

"Do shut up," Snape snapped at Trelawney. He put a hand out to McGonagall. "May I?"

She handed him the letter, and he read over it with a frown. "He says there was a name mentioned when the soul was taken. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. A Watcher."

"Wesley," McGonagall whispered. "Albus, is that not the little squib boy who assisted Madam Pince for a few years?"

"If I remember correctly, he would have been disowned by his family if he had not become a Watcher," Snape added. "It seems life as a librarian would have been much kinder in the end."

"You knew nothing of you-know-whose interest in the watchers?" McGonagall asked.

"Nothing," Snape answered, curtly. "However, I was aware that he has been somewhat distracted lately. Potter says he hears Black's voice as well. Are we sure the boy knows this information to be true?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, an owl flew into the Great Hall, dropping a special edition of the Daily Prophet onto the table. The headline read _Prisoners Escaped, Azkaban in Ruins: Ministry Reports Break-ins Only Hours Earlier._

"Oh, yes, Severus," Dumbledore nodded. "I'm quite sure Harry is right."

"For Merlin's sake, Albus! It says Azkaban was demolished less than an hour ago," McGonagall yelled. "Why were we not informed at once?"

"Albus," Severus said, dangerously low. "The Dark Lord did not tell me of this. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, Severus." Dumbledore sat the paper down. "You are no longer among Voldemort's most trusted. Our defenses are down and Voldemort's army is greater than ever. We need to consult Firenze. Sybil, if you would be so kind as to. . . .Sybil?"

The woman's eyes were glazed and distant. A voice that was not her own issued from her open mouth:

_"THE HIGH NECROMANCER SHALL RISE WITH THE SECRETS OF THE LORD OF THE DEAD. . . . AND TWO ARMIES SHALL BATTLE WITH LIKE GOALS. . . .THESE DAYS SHALL BE MARKED BY THE FALL OF THE WOLF, THE RAM, AND THE HART AND THE DEATH OF THE SORROWED LOVER. . . . WHEN HELL BATTLES THE FOUR WARRIORS IN THE CITY OF __ANGELS__—ONLY AFTER SHALL THE POWERS OF THE NECROMANCER GREET EARTH AGAIN. . . ."_

Trelawney's mouth closed and her head bobbled back and forth. She blinked a few times, bewildered by the stares from her colleagues. "What?" she asked innocently.

"The High Necromancer," Snape whispered a frightened trill to his voice. "Albus, I do believe we are in trouble." He turned, but the Headmaster was already walking off toward the closest fireplace, a handful of floo powder in his palm.

* * *

_Cleveland, __Ohio_

* * *

Buffy plopped down on the couch, enjoying her few minutes of me-time with a bag of Doritos.

Most of the house was empty. The few slayers that were living with Xander here in Ohio were out on a shopping excursion. Giles was in the study (which was their version of Sunnyhell's school library). Everyone else was doing their own thing: Faith and Wood were in New York at the moment (doing God knows what), Willow—with the help of Dawn and Andrew--was scraping together the last of the undiscovered Slayers and delivering them to their Rome based training camp, and Xander was at work.

Buffy had been traveling a lot in the last year, and she rarely had time to be a couch potato. Her free time, however, was not to last. At that very moment, a man's head, surrounded by green flames, popped through the fireplace. Buffy stopped mid-chew, eyes widening.

"Hello, there! You must be Buffy Summers." The man greeted her with a smile. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now, before you begin asking questions, would you be so kind as to fetch Rupert Giles for me?"

Buffy, for the first time in years, was stunned into silence.

"Miss Summers?"

"Huh? Sure." Buffy turned her head in the general direction of the study. "Giles! Could you come here a minute?" she shouted at the top of her voice.

"Buffy, I do hope this is important," Giles muttered, coming out of the room with an open book in hand. "I was in the middle of translating this text of. . . . Professor?" Giles' mouth dropped open. "Professor Dumbledore?"

Buffy frowned. "Giles, you got some 'splaining to do."

"Dear Lord, Professor. Come in." Giles gestured for the old wizard to enter.

"Not now, Rupert," Dumbledore said gravely. "We haven't the time for tea, I'm afraid."

"What's happened?" Giles asked, taking a chair next to the fireplace.

"Giles, are you gonna explain the whole old-guy-in-our-fireplace thing?"

"Not right now, Buffy!" Giles snapped. More gently he added, "Later, I promise." Buffy snorted, but remained quiet.

"Rupert, Professor Sybil Trelawney has had a prediction," Dumbledore began.

"That old bat," Giles interrupted. "She had a real prediction?"

"My boy, she has had many predictions in the past. Sadly, you have not been privy to the most important ones. That is to change from this moment on. We are in desperate need of your help."

"What can I do, Professor?"

"Only an hour ago several events took place at once. At this moment, I only have time to discuss one of them. Sybil made an important prophecy pertaining to the rise of the High Necromancer. We are under the belief that Lord Voldemort wishes to take this title."

Buffy noticed Giles' shutter. "So this Moldiwort is a baddy?" she asked.

"The worst," Giles said softly. "Then the rumors are true? He's back?"

"He has been for over a year," Dumbledore confirmed.

"And he wishes to become the High Necromancer?" Giles added.

Dumbledore nodded. "As far as we can tell."

Giles bit his lip. "Tell me this prophecy, then."

Dumbledore began, repeating the lines up to three times apiece. When it was finished, Giles took off his glasses and began to clean them. "_The Lord of the Dead. _That book was lost for ages. It was only recently found."

Dumbledore's eyes glistened. "Do you know where it is, Rupert?"

Giles nodded. "Yes. Actually, it's in this very city. A retired watcher has it in her position; she's one of the few people that could be trusted with such a text. Her name is Wilhelmina Granger."

"Mina Granger, you say?" Dumbledore asked. He proceeded at Giles' nod. "Oh, dear. I do believe one of my students is staying with a great aunt by that name. Can you get in contact with Mina at once, Rupert?"

"I'll call her right now," Giles answered.

"Just a minute, guys," Buffy said. "Aren't you ignoring the rest of this 'oh so reliable' prophecy? These animals have to fall, then someone has to die, and hell has to rise again. I think we'd notice if hell was rising with four warriors to battle it, after all, this is a hellmouth."

"Buffy has a point," Giles agreed. "However, I think I do see this happening in the near future. Buffy, don't you recognize that name. Wolfram and Hart, Buffy."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. At least, we know they haven't fell yet (sadly) and that other stuff still hasn't happened."

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm afraid you are incorrect, Miss Summers. I am told that a man died about an hour ago who may have fit the position of "sorrowed lover". It was someone I know you're familiar with, Rupert. His name was Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Buffy felt her eyes begin to burn and her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. She hadn't know Wesley terribly well, or even liked him much. . . but still.

"Dear lord," Giles muttered. "The poor boy . . . . "

"No. No. The other part of the prophecy," Buffy reasoned. "The other part hasn't came to pass. The evil law firm hasn't fell and hell hasn't risen."

"In the City of Angels," Giles whispered. "Hell has not risen in the City of Angels."

"Los Angeles," Buffy hissed. "No! It hasn't happened yet. Someone would have told us. After all, how would they be able to fight off hell without the slayers?"

Buffy was about to add that she didn't put much faith in prophecies when the phone rang. Giles looked at the telephone as if it was an omen. Buffy reached for it and picked it up.

"Hello?"

There was silence on the other end. Then she heard a voice. "Buffy?"

Buffy could hear her heart beating in her throat. She swallowed hard.

"Angel?"


	3. Chapter 2: Prophecy in the Works

**Disclaimer: I don't own it, duh. **

**A/N: I'm so sorry I forgot to tell everyone that there were major Angel spoilers in this story! **

**_The Necromancer_**

**Chapter 2: Prophecy in the Works**

Angel pulled himself out from beneath the dragon, leaving a sword protruding from its serpentine head. He stood up, losing his game face and cocking an eyebrow. He nudged the reeking body with one boot. The dragon stayed down.

"That was . . . easy."

He heard the grisly sound of snapping bones and turned to see Illyria decapitating a demon with one hand. Her blue eyes darted toward the dead dragon.

"You could have accomplished the task of "slaying the dragon" in a much shorter amount of time," Illyria commented.

Angel snorted, pulling the sword from the creature's skull and slicing a small sized demon in two. He prepared to charge another, but Illyria called out to him.

"Angel, we can not take this force. By now, Gunn will have fell, and I have already lost sight of Spike. Wesley was dead before this began. We are losing." Her blue tinged eyes remained on Angel as she broke another demon's neck.

"What were you expecting?" Angel snapped. "I told all of you that we would probably fall in this battle! I told you to live your last day well. Did no one hear my end-of-the-world speech?"

"I will fight to the end, Angel." Illyria remained unmoved. "However, know that the demons we do not defeat will spill out onto the streets, a trail of our blood following them. The innocent will fall. The cries of women and children will fill the air. Their blood will stain the Earth. . . Because we did not call for help when we knew we were defeated."

"I'm getting the picture." Angel raised his sword and gutted a many legged creature. "If you're saying I should ask for help from. . . ." Angel frowned, a pained look on his face. "Buffy wouldn't come. She doesn't trust me anymore."

"She would help you on this night," Illyria said, without doubt.

"There's no time!" Angel's patience was wearing thin. He had thought of this all before. He had wanted help, but none would come. "There's nothing she could do anyhow. It's too late for all that."

"Contact her." Illyria stood firm as she crushed her fist into her enemy's face.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Angel shouted, taking his frustration out on a few nearby demons.

"I would suggest using your cell phone," Illyria answered coolly.

Angel's mouth dropped open in surprise. He patted his side pocked, realizing that his cell phone was indeed still intact and on him. Hope glimmered in his eyes for a moment but then he frowned again.

"Damn company upgrade. . . .Illyria, do you know how to use a cell phone?"

It was Illyria's turn to raise a brow.

* * *

_Cleveland_

* * *

"Angel?" Buffy couldn't believe her ears. A shaky breath issued from her mouth. Then the melodramatic moment ended abruptly. "Angel, is there any chance that Hell has risen in Los Angeles and now you and three others are fighting its demons?" she asked quickly. 

There was a short silence. "How? Buffy, you knew? What's going on?"

"I take that as a yes." Buffy grimaced at the reality of the situation.

"We're too late," Giles sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Dumbledore coughed to catch their attention. "Miss Summers. A word, please?"

"Hold up a second, Angel," Buffy said, covering the receiver. "Yes, Mr. . . .Wizard?"

"Tell Mr. Angel that help will be arriving shortly," Dumbledore replied. "I must be going now. I will be back to you shortly. Rupert, contact Wilhelmina Granger as soon as possible. It is of the utmost importance." The elderly wizard disappeared into the fireplace.

Buffy put the phone back to her mouth. "Back."

"You put me on hold! You know I'm fighting Hell and you put me on hold?" Angel snapped.

"Calm down," Buffy snapped back. "Listen, help is on the way. I assume some weird people with magic skills will be showing up soon. I don't know them, but I'm guessing they're of the good."

"Thanks—I think," Angel answered, slowly. "What do these magic people look li. . ."

There was silence, followed by a stream of beeps.

Buffy hung up the phone, hoping that Angel was alright. She turned to her watcher. "Giles, would you like to fill me in on this whole 'school of magic' thing?"

* * *

_Los Angeles__ (further down the alley)_

* * *

Spike realized that one never gets use to being thrown through a wall. He stood, slightly dazed from the number of bricks his head had recently made intimate contact with. He looked down in fury. 

"Bloody, Hell! My jacket!" Spike shouted. There were now three strips of cloth missing from his duster where demons had gotten a bit too close.

Realizing that he was no longer covered in demons, he looked around. He was in what appeared to be an abandoned storage facility. He took in a few locked doors around the room and large unmarked boxes in its corners. In front of him was a gaping hole in the shape of his body that showed demons rushing past down the alley. Buggers hadn't even come inside to finish him off.

Spike suddenly realized that he could run, having found such a convenient way out of the battle, but where the hell was the fun in that?

He walked out of the building and was immediately engaged in a fight with a four foot demon with an attitude. Spike twisted the demon's neck with ease and let the creature fall. He looked up, prepared to take on another when he saw a body up ahead. _Gunn. _Spike made his way through the oncoming demons toward his friend's body.

A demon was bent over Gunn, preparing to put a clawed hand through the young man's stomach wound. Spike lifted the demon off the man and tossed the creature into the crowd. He grabbed Gunn by his shirt front and threw him over his shoulder.

Spike retraced his steps to the opening of the building. Unfortunately, demons had decided to explore this new open space. Spike kicked back a trio that met him at the opened and slipped by the rest toward the nearest door. The demons were turning their attention on the newcomers. Spike slipped through the door and barricaded it with a chair (the only chair in the new room).

This new sanctuary was crummier than most tombs. Light from another street filtered in through a barred window, showing the shadowy features of what seemed to be a small office. Spike laid Gunn down on a rusty metal desk.

Spike put a hand to the man's neck. He was alive, but he was quickly fading. Spike checked Gunn's wounds, but there was nothing he could do but hold a hand tightly against them. Nevertheless, the blood continued to flow.

"I'm sorry, boy," Spike muttered, squeezing the man's shoulder.

Gunn's eyes opened weakly. He seemed surprised that he was still alive. After all, Illyria had given him about five minutes to live when he's shown up for the battle. Instead, he'd fought for half an hour before passing out.

"Spike," he coughed.

"Quiet, boy. Save your strength," Spike answered, looking down at the man. He didn't let any pity slip though. He knew Gunn hated being pitied.

"I. . . I," Gunn began.

Spike could barely hear him for all the ruckus the demons were making outside the barricaded door. They would be inside in minutes, but until that time, Spike planned on putting all his attention on Gunn. After all, a dying man's words were more important. That thought pained Spike. He wondered what Wesley had told Illyria. He wondered if he would be able to pass on Gunn's message in the end, if he would be alive to do so.

"Say it again, Gunn," Spike asked, leaning over the man to hear him better.

There was a sudden popping sound from behind Spike. He guessed it was a demon breaking through the door. However, he soon realized it was not a demon at all.

Spike felt a wooden stick being pressed against his back.

"Turn around," ordered a voice.

Spike obeyed, not liking the stick so close to his heart. A young woman stood behind him. She had bubblegum pink hair and was wearing robes that put Drusilla's wardrobe back into style. The stick she was holding to him looked like an anorexic stake, but Spike didn't dare scoff at the obvious weapon.

"Back away from the muggle!" she shouted.

"The what?"

"Vampire, I said back away from that man!"

"No, you didn't, but I'll not argue that point," Spike commented. "Are you, by any chance, a slayer?"

The young woman looked confused. "No."

"Well, then who are you and what are you doing in my town?" Spike asked, casually pulling a cigarette from his duster's pocket. He noticed that it was broken in half, however, and tossed it behind him.

"Your town?" smirked the girl.

"Well, officially, it was Peaches' first, but now we play the place together. So, if you have ill wishes toward this place, pack your bags, or I'll be forced to kick your arse."

The pink haired girl tried to put on a threatening face and prance forward but she stumbled over her own feet. Spike grabbed her arm before she fell.

"My name is Spike, by the way."

The girl's eyes widened. "You're one of the ensouled ones. You know the souled vampire Angel, don't you?"

Spike was about to answer when he heard Gunn moan behind him.

"Listen, girly," Spike began. "My friend here's hurt. I have to get him help."

She nodded quickly, seeing Gunn's condition. "I can help him," she said quickly, "but I have to take him with me now."

"Bloody hell, you will!" Spike snarled. "How do I know you're not evil? I don't even know your name!"

"Tonks," she answered briskly. "Listen, what does it matter? He's dying here. If you let me take him, he may have a chance. Trust me."

"Fine," Spike muttered. "But if you put him through anymore pain, I'll have to rip your throat out."

Tonks looked shocked at his threat. She moved forward and grabbed a hold of Gunn. She pulled a bottle cap from her pocket.

"What's that suppose to do?" Spike asked.

"It's an emergency portkey," she replied. At Spike's confused face, she continued. "It will take us to the hospital. Don't worry; he'll be right as rain once they're done with him. The other aurors will be here to aid you soon. Good luck, Spike."

The girl ran her finger along the inside of the bottle cap, and she and Gunn disappeared before Spike's eyes.

"What's an auror?" Spike muttered.


	4. Chapter 3: The Consequences of Opening ...

**Disclaimer: I promise I don't own this.**

**Panther28: I imagine it to be about mid July to late July. . . Almost Harry's birthday. I don't think that goes along with the Angel time period too well but…oh well. Thanks for your review.**

**Oh, and the time changes (from ****Cleveland**** to Little Whinging to Hogwarts to LA) may be a bit off. . . I'm trying to keep them accurate for sake of the antisunlight characters. In this chapter, the sun's just gone down in ****Cleveland**** and it's mid morning with Harry but I don't know how accurate that is either. **

**_The Necromancer_**

**Chapter 3: The Consequences of Opening a Book**

It was not yet mid morning and Harry was already pacing his small room, kneading his hands nervously. His forehead was damp with perspiration and the clothes he had changed into were wrinkled and worn. Petunia Dursley had tried to call Harry down to fix breakfast, but the boy would not leave the room. In fact, he would not even respond to the Dursley's questions. Harry only stared ahead as he paced, listening for the voices and blocking out all else.

He couldn't help but think of his letter. He should have received a reply from Dumbledore, he reasoned, but none had come. However, he had received a letter less than half an hour ago. It had been an article from the Daily Prophet, sent by Ron. It said that the prisoners—the Death Eaters—had escaped Azkaban. It briefly touched on the Ministry break-in that occurred almost simultaneously.

_It was for the veil,_ Harry thought, frowning. _Voldemort has been visiting the veil for a while now but last night he put another soul in it. Surely, Dumbledore has seen this article! So why hasn't he replied to my bloody letter? He has to believe me. He must._

Harry sat down at last, feeling exhausted. Then he heard it. A voice. But it wasn't just any voice, it was Sirius's. Hot tears filled Harry's eyes. The voice was dull and low. He could barely hear it, but he knew it was there.

"Sirius," Harry sighed. "Sirius, please. I can't hear you."

The voice gained strength and was joined by yet another man's voice. It was so loud that Harry covered his ears with both hands, but it did nothing to muffle their volume.

"THE LORD OF THE DEAD WILL BE OPENED. . . HARRY. . . THE LORD OF THE DEAD WILL BE OPENED. . ."

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU!" Harry shouted at the top of his voice. He could hear someone pounding on his door, but the voices were so much louder now. "SIRIUS, I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"PURE OF HEART, PURE OF BODY, THE POWER LIES WITHIN. . . ." The second voice took over. "IT WILL BE OPENED. CLEVELAND, OHIO. THE BOOK. . . GRANGER. MINA GRANGER."

Harry swallowed hard. Terror ran through him as he recognized the name. "NO! THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE!"

Sirius's voice came back, blocking all else:

"HERMIONE! WITH HERMIONE! SAVE HER."

The voices dissolved into nothing and Harry fell back into his bed, soaked in sweat and panting. His bedroom door burst open, and Harry scrambled to his feet.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up in surprise. "Professor Lupin?"

Remus walked inside, taking the boy in an embrace and holding him out to examine. "Harry, are you alright? I heard shouting. I thought—"

"Professor, what are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore sent word. He asked be to move you to the Headquarters immediately," Remus replied. "Get your things. We must take the muggle route I'm afraid."

Harry took a step away from the man. "I'm not going," he said firmly. "I'm going to the US, right now."

Remus looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Hermione," Harry explained. "She's in danger. I'm going after her, Professor, with or without you. Will you help me?"

Remus sat on the edge of the bed looking shabbier than ever. "Tell me everything, Harry."

* * *

_Cleveland_

* * *

"Giles, would you like to fill me in on this whole 'school of magic' thing?" Buffy asked. 

Buffy was surprised to see Giles blush. "Rupert Giles! Well, someone wasn't honest about their high school education! No wonder your algebra sucks, you were spending your school years levitating stuff."

"Excuse me!" Giles snapped. "I'll have you know that my mathematical skills are exceptional. . . ." Giles broke off, seeing the slight smirk on Buffy's face. "Buffy, there are a few things about my past that I was not completely honest about, true. However, at the time, it was of no importance."

"Let me guess. This goes back to your _Ripper_ days?" Buffy asked.

"As a matter of fact, it does." Giles took a deep breath. "I do not have time to describe my school career, Buffy, but I promise that answers will come."

Buffy grimaced. "I do not plan to be left out of this. When one person keeps a secret, the whole group suffers. You should know this, Giles."

"There's really no reason to get the others involved," Giles began.

Buffy raised a dangerous brow.

Giles nodded. "Fine. I'll let Willow and Xander see the skeletons in my closet, if you prefer. However, there is no time at the moment. I have a book to locate."

"Alright, fine," Buffy said. She picked the phone up and handed it to Giles. "I believe you have a phone call to make. Just don't tie up the lines for long; Dawnie is supposed to check in from Rome."

Giles took the phone. "Buffy, there's one more thing you must know before I call Mina. The Dark Lord. . . . Voldemort is a very powerful wizard with ruthless allies. We can not, at any cost, allow him to open this book."

"Giles, honestly, how long have I been doing this?" Buffy scoffed. "If this big bad comes our way, I'll finish him off like any other demon. Just get the book before he can."

"I believe you are underestimating the Dark Lord, Buffy," Giles whispered. "That is not a wise thing to do."

Buffy eyed him like a predator. "Just make the call."

* * *

_The Book Cellar, __Cleveland_

* * *

Hermione Granger was a firm lover of books. However, over the past month, her love had been dampened by cheesy paperback romances and Great Aunt Mina's collection of foreign texts (in numerous languages). What depressed Hermione the most was that the rarest books were kept a secret and hidden in a vault, so that she could never actually read any of them. 

Hermione practically drooled as she saw another one of those beautiful books being hidden away until sold to the highest bidder. She plopped down in a squashy cloth chair in her aunt's office, a new box of paperbacks on the desk in front of her. When her great aunt had offered Hermione a job in her bookstore in the States, the girl had been thrilled. Hermione had not truly realized what she was getting herself into at the time.

Hermione's aunt was a tall, stately woman with a dull conservative taste in clothing and who always kept her gray hair in a tight bun. She was a bit like Professor McGonagall except Mina did not like children much. Mina had no children of her own and considered herself quite lucky. Hermione's aunt continuously complained about the unrestrictive behavior of today's youth, saying that in her day young men and women took on responsibilities. This was usually followed by Mina giving Hermione a pat on the back for not tying herself down with a man and staying on top of her studies instead.

Hermione despised her love life being brought up even more than paperback romances. Consequently, every time her dating record was brought up, she thought of her two best friends, Ron and Harry. But neither Ron nor Harry was quite what she was looking for. Krum had definitely not been her type either, even though she did admit that he wasn't a bad 'first boyfriend'. Once again, Hermione was lost thinking of her life as she began sorting through the new box of books.

"Hermione," came her aunt's sharp voice. "If you would like anything to eat, I suggest you fix it now. I need you to take over the counter when you're finished."

Hermione sighed. She had to work the last few hours of the night. _Who visits a used book store at __11:00 pm__ anyhow?_ she thought bitterly.

"Just a moment Aunt Mina," Hermione called back. She walked out of the office. The bookstore was a ghost town, not literally of course. Nevertheless, the small store was lovely in its own way. The ground floor was lined with book cases and open so that you could see the second floor's balcony. A huge chandelier hung from the tall ceiling—a bit fancy for the small store, but it still added the right amount of charm.

Hermione walked up the steps to the second floor where she and her aunt's living quarters were located. She was about to enter their small kitchen when she heard her aunt's private line ringing.

Hermione went into her Aunt's room and picked up the cordless phone.

"The Book Cellar, Hermione speaking," she answered, briefly.

"This is Rupert Giles," said the voice on the other line. "I need to speak to Wilhelmina Granger, please."

"A moment, please," Hermione said. She had opened her mouth to call for her aunt when Mina burst into the room.

"Who is it?" her aunt asked briskly. The woman seemed worried. She closed the door behind her and gestured for Hermione to sit down on the bed.

Hermione gave her the phone. "Rupert Giles."

"Thank God," Mina murmured. "Rupert?" she said into the phone.

Mina listened, her eyes widening. "Oh, Lord, Rupert. Are you sure?"

There was a moment's silence then Mina replied, "I have it in this very room. Yes, of course."

Mina reached down and pulled a large, flat trunk from beneath her bed. She pulled it out and unlocked it with a small key hidden in her skirt pocket. The chest popped open with a click. Hermione stared down into the trunk. Inside were a few crucifixes, three daggers, and an assortment of books. Mina pulled out a large tan book with strange shapes written in red ink across its cover.

"I have it," Mina hissed into the phone. "Rupert, I think you should come at once. I do not want this book in my possession if _he_ is after it. Especially, not with my niece here, you understand."

Mina nodded to herself and hung the phone up. "Hermione, I want you to stay here."

"What's going on Aunt?" Hermione asked.

"I'll explain later, dear," Mina answered.

"But—"

The lights flickered and went out. The room was deathly still. Hermione could hear her aunt breathing heavily next to her.

"Oh God," Mina whispered. "Hermione stay here. Keep this book with you. Don't let them have it, my dear."

Hermione felt the book being pushed into her hands and heard her aunt exit the room. Hermione stumbled in the dark until she reached the door handle. She felt along the hall until she reached her own door. Quickly, the witch locked herself in her bedroom and felt for her bedside table. Her wand was in the first drawer.

"_Lumos_," she hissed.

Her room was filled with light. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a good look at the book her aunt seemed to be protecting. She gasped and threw it down beside her. The shapes on the cover had changed, were still changing in fact. They were forming true words in English. The cover soon read: _The Lord of the Dead._

Hermione's wand hand was shaking, not from fear but from restraint. The book was calling to her, whispering her name, asking for her touch. And she _wanted_ to obey the book, to touch its cover again. Surely, one touch couldn't hurt. Before she knew it, she was placing her hand on the strange book. It quivered like flesh in response to her gentle touch. She pulled back.

She shivered, switching wand hands and putting her hand back on the book. She wanted to open the book. It wanted to be opened.

Hermione tried to bring logic into the situation. She reasoned that she was simply curious—the book was not controlling her! She wanted to read it of her own free will. She wanted to know the Lord of the Dead. Then any trace of logic left her as her fingers opened the book to the first page. It was filled will with odd shapes that were slowly changing into her language.

She read the first few lines aloud. "_You, my Necromancer, shall be followed by death and the dead shall obey your command. So says the last of the High Necromancers and so it shall be true, my awaited apprentice. May you call upon my armies, Hermione Granger._"

Hermione slammed the book shut and held it tightly against her chest. Then she realized what had pulled her out of the book. Her aunt's screams were echoing from downstairs.


	5. Chapter 4: Trial and Error

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. **

**_The Necromancer_**

**Chapter 4: Trial and Error**

Xander Harris drug his feet as he stepped through his front door. He sat his box of tools down near the coat rack and tossed off his work boots. It had been a long day to say the least. He hadn't slept the night before (new slayers tended to be trouble and the fact that they all wanted to impress their visiting role model Buffy didn't help the situation). He'd fell asleep during his lunch break and received a sermon from his hefty boss. Now all he wanted was to find his hidden bag of Doritos and do an interpretive dance as a couch potato, but life never was that easy for young Mr. Harris.

Xander ran into a muddled Giles in the kitchen. Buffy was right behind her old watcher wearing her official 'serious' face.

"Going out for dinner?" Xander gave them a half smile.

Buffy frowned. "_A la Wizard_ is definitely on the menu."

Giles straightened his glasses and looked at Xander as if he'd just noticed him. "Oh, yes. Xander, the girls are still out shopping. Buffy and I need to go retrieve a book. We have a slight situation on our hands."

"Prophecies, magic books, big bads—the usual," Buffy commented. "Hold down the fort for us, 'kay?"

"Will do," Xander answered, watching Buffy and Giles go. He sighed. How long had they been doing this? It was always the same it seemed. When would he see something new?

Xander sat down on the couch, relishing in its ultra comfy pillows, and looked over to see what was left of his Doritos sitting beside him. "Buffy!" Nevertheless, he shoved his hand into the bag to scrape out the last of its tasty goodness.

Then he choked.

Someone had just stepped out of his fireplace.

No. _Two_ someones had just _fallen_ out of his fireplace.

Xander spit chip crumbs onto his shirt and stood up, grabbing a dagger that was stored next to the TV's remote control.

The two strangers from the fireplace stood up cautiously, hands up to show that they had no weapons. The first was a teenage boy with black hair and glasses. The second was a man who looked slightly younger than Giles wearing threadbare…robes? Both were covered in ashes and looked surprised at their surroundings.

Xander spoke first. "You should really think about knocking before entering. Are you evil? Better tell the truth now or I'll be forced to poke you really hard." He brandished the blade, though his hand was shaking slightly. After all, he had just seen two people appear through a fireplace. It was obviously some sort of magic. He half wondered if Willow could come through their fire place. Maybe it was just a portal. Or Santa Claus teleportation. Who knew? Well, probably the guys who had just fell through it!

"We mean you no harm," the man said. "My name is Remus Lupin. I had to make an emergency patch into your floo network. I do hope you don't mind, but we couldn't get another floo user in this part of Cleveland, Ohio. We are in Cleveland, correct?"

"Oh, you're in Cleveland," Xander answered. He almost laughed at man's words—he spoke Giles. "Did you just say you flew here? But you came through a fireplace. Oh, and you didn't answer that very important part about being evil."

The man, Remus Lupin, looked crestfallen and the teenager beside him slapped his forehead.

"You're a muggle!" the teenager said.

"A what?"

The teenager looked very aggravated. "We don't have time for this, Professor! Hermione is in trouble. We'll deal with him later."

Remus looked at Xander a second more before answering. "Sir, we have urgent business in Cleveland. We must go or a young girl may lose her life."

The teenage boy looked as if he was wondering why they were still standing there, but then his brow lifted as he saw Xander lower his weapon.

Xander smiled, still keeping the two in check. "So, where ya headed?"

* * *

_The Book Cellar_

* * *

Mina Granger's scream was suddenly cut off. 

Hermione took a deep breath. A cold sweat came over her as she held the book close. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong with her aunt, and somehow it had to do with this blessed book that had been hidden away.

"_Knox,_" she whispered and pocketed her wand.

Hermione eased herself out of her room, her back against the wall, partly to hide her and partly to provide her balance. She had felt this sort of fear before in the Department of Mysteries, but then she'd had her friends beside her. They'd given her confidence. Now she was alone. No, that wasn't quite correct. The fear was more intense because she knew that she was not alone—the _Lord of the Dead_ was with her.

**"_May you call upon my armies, Hermione Granger."_**

Hermione closed her eyes, recalling the line. It had said her name. It had to be a trick. But she kept hearing its words. She was tempted to reply aloud, but she bit her lip. Instead she concentrated on getting downstairs. The front and back doors were her only means of escape and both were located on the first level of the building.

Hermione crept out to the balcony of the second story where one could see the book store's many shelves and its huge chandelier but something was wrong with the scene before her….

The girl caught her breath and slid to the floor, a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. From the store's beautiful chandelier hung Mina Granger, the light of the moon through the downstairs windows reflecting off the corpse. The body swung as if with a mystic wind until it was facing Hermione's direction. She could see her aunt's open, lifeless eyes even in the darkness.

Hermione turned from the gruesome scene, keeping her eyes ahead of her. She crawled on her knees, book under one arm and slid from step to step as quietly as she could. She was almost on the first floor, and she had not yet spotted her aunt's murderers. Then she heard it, the faintest of chuckles. It was an eerie, dark laugh that she recognized.

"No," the girl hissed to herself. It couldn't be _her_.

Then Hermione saw them. There were three. Two wore black robes and masks and were scanning the shelves of books, their wands out offensively. They were Death Eaters. In front of them stood a tall figure, bald and dressed in tight robes that made him seem even more snake-like. Lord Voldemort.

_What are they doing here? _Hermione felt the book tingle as she asked herself that question. _Then they're after the book_? It tingled again, sending goose bumps up Hermione's arms. Hermione had no time to question how her aunt knew about a magic book that apparently Voldemort was looking for. She had to get out. And fast.

She eased down the last few steps. So far, the Death Eaters were concentrating on their search, their focus on the back of the building. Her route to the front door was clear. She drew out her wand and headed forward.

The glass entrance door was only a few feet ahead of her when a she felt a hand grab hold of her hair and jerk her backwards. She was tossed to the floor and her wand hand was immediately stomped on. Her only weapon was kicked from her grasp before she could utter a spell.

A Death Eater looked down on her. He was removing his mask. Hermione recognized Lucius Malfoy's sneering face. The wizard gave a small smile that was anything but kind. He had his wand on her.

"My, what a catch. Potter's little girlfriend, the know-it-all," he said. "Stand up, mudblood."

Hermione pulled herself up, only then realizing that she was still holding the book beneath her arm. She forced herself to hold a brave, Gryffindor face, but inside she felt as if she was already doomed.

"Aren't you supposed to be in prison?" Hermione asked.

Laughter came from behind. Hermione had no need to turn her head. She knew that it belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. The remaining Death Eaters and their Dark Lord were now most definitely looking in Hermione's direction.

"_Accio_ _book!_'

Hermione felt the book fly out from beneath her arm and into the outstretched hand of Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord smiled cruelly before speaking.

"It seems," came his hissing voice, "that Miss Granger has been so kind as to deliver our book to us."

Bellatrix laughed once again, irritating Hermione. She wished to comment on it but Malfoy interrupted her.

"Then that is the book you were searching for, My Lord?" Lucius asked.

"It is indeed," Voldemort said. "Bella, I would like to see flames. Show the muggles that it is not their place to hold such books of power."

Bellatrix, face still hidden by her mask, sat her wand to a pile of books. "_Incendio__!"_ she cried. She took a step back, watching the flames lick the volumes.

Voldemort paid no attention but stroked _The Lord of the Dead's_ cover, not bothering to open the book. Instead he stared at the aged cover as if in rapture. "Lucius, have Miss Granger show us the way out. We have an important guest due here any moment," he said suddenly.

"My pleasure."

Lucius swished his wand and Hermione flew forward through the glass front door. She landed in a heap, shards of glass slicing her skin as she tried to pull herself up. Pain shot through her leg, and she collapsed back on to the ground. She turned to see a triangular piece of glass jutting out of her upper thigh, a puddle of crimson collecting beneath her.

Lucius walked through the frame of the shattered door, wand still on Hermione. Voldemort and Bellatrix followed likewise.

Hermione shot Lucius a look of hatred. "You bastard!" she shouted. "You're all going to burn in Hell. And Harry and Dumbledore are going to send you there personally!"

Voldemort let out a low chuckle. "Oh, are they, girl? We shall see, but, sadly, you will not be there to witness your friends' final defeat. Consider yourself lucky—after all, you won't have to watch every one around you die like your precious Harry Potter will."

Suddenly there was a pop and a figure wearing long gray robes and holding an old plastic soda bottle in front of him appeared before the group. The new comer dropped the bottle and pushed back his hood to reveal a young, sharp face and white-blond hair.

"Father," Draco Malfoy said. His eyes were wide as he saw Hermione on the ground. "What's going on, Father?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. She honestly didn't know why she was so surprise to see the Slytherin. It was almost fact that the whole Malfoy family was in league with the Dark Lord. Hermione simply hadn't expected anyone her own age to already be a Death Eater, if in fact Draco truly was. Perhaps this was just his initiation. _What if he's supposed to kill me…the mudblood?_

"It seems young Malfoy has arrived," Voldemort said.

Draco turned, only just noticing the Dark Lord. The young man went down on one knee almost automatically and bowed his head in respect. "My Lord."

"Then I trust our portkey worked well?" Voldemort asked. "You did as you were asked. Very good."

Voldemort made no sign for Draco to rise but sat his coveted book before the teenage boy.

"Do you know why you are here, boy?"

"No, my Lord," Draco answered.

Voldemort nodded to himself. "I require one such as yourself: a strong, powerful wizard. . . . Who is pure."

Draco did not look up but Hermione saw his cheeks redden.

"Excuse me, my Lord?"

"Pure, Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord repeated. "Pure of heart, pure of body. Your father said that you are still pure. He did not lie to me, now did he? You are pure?"

Draco nodded quickly. "I'm. . . .I am pure of body, my Lord."

Voldemort raised a brow. "And of heart?"

Draco looked up a bit. "I do not understand, my Lord. How is one pure of heart?"

"Have you ever wished one dead? Have you ever killed? Have you ever enjoyed another's pain?" Voldemort asked.

Draco was slow to answer. Voldemort reached down and cupped the young man's chin with his long fingers. He tilted Draco's head and looked into his eyes.

"No. You have never done these things. You are pure enough, boy. Do not fear, we will remedy that soon after this ordeal." Voldemort released Draco.

Lucius spoke up. "Is he 'qualified', my lord?"

Voldemort did not answer him but looked down on the young man again. "Draco Malfoy. You are mine from this moment on. You will be my instrument. Now open the book before you and read its words aloud."

Draco slowly extended his hand to the book's cover. "My Lord?" Draco glanced about, confused. "It will not open."

Voldemort's slit like nostril's flared in fury. "_Did you lie to me, boy?"_

Draco panicked at Voldemort's anger and fell backward. "No, my Lord! Never!"

"_Crucio__!"_ Voldemort hissed, hitting the boy with the curse.

Draco writhed in pain on the ground. "I. . . did not lie!" he cried.

"Stop it!" Hermione shouted, her face a mask of fury. She was shocked by her own actions. What did she care about Draco Malfoy? He meant nothing to her. _It's because he has a pure heart. . . .No one deserves this. Not even Mr. Bastard Jr._

Voldemort lifted the curse suddenly, the anger vanishing from his face. He instead turned to the weakened Hermione with his red eyes wide.

"Well, well," he spat. "It seems, Young Malfoy, that Miss Granger beat you to the race. You opened the book, didn't you, girl?"

"No," Hermione replied meekly.

Voldemort saw straight through the lie. "I didn't know you had it in you. To think of it: one of Dumbledore's prize students dabbling in the works of the Lord of the Dead."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Hermione shouted.

Voldemort raised a hand to her, gesturing toward her. "We shall see who the liar is here. Lucius, bring her to me."


	6. Chapter 5: Amongst the Living

_**The Necromancer**_

**Chapter 5: Amongst the Living**

"Bring her to me."

Lucius was glad to comply. He reached down for Hermione's arm and pulled her up. Hermione glared at him but realized soon enough that she couldn't stand without some support. Her legs trembled beneath her, the wound in her thigh oozing a stream of warm blood.

Lucius smiled viciously at her as she used her free hand to grab hold of his robes and pull herself to full height.

"Well, well. Her kind are all the same. Bloody tramp finds her life at sake and suddenly wants to tumble, it seems. Like a bitch in heat."

Bellatrix's sharp laughter made Hermione wince.

Lucius leaned down to Hermione's level. "It's that what you are, you filthy animal. . ."

"Enough, Lucius," Voldemort hissed. The Death Eater looked to his master and visibly paled. "We are leaving," the Dark Lord continued. He looked down at the young Malfoy on the ground. "Forget the boy for now."

Lucius's eyes widened. "But Master. . . My son."

"Lucius, do not question me. You have made a fool of yourself already. I have no use for him at the moment—pray I do not decide to eradicate him for this embarrassment."

The Dark Lord turned without giving Draco a further glance. His slit like nostrils expanded as he frowned, sniffing the air. He slowly raised his wand and his death eaters glanced about the dimly lit sidewalk cautiously. "We are not alone," the Dark Lord whispered.

"Good call."

The Dark Lord's red eyes landed on a petite young woman standing less than a hundred yards away from him. The woman put one hand on her hip and held a strangely shaped axe in the other. She smiled wickedly.

"Hello, my name's Buffy Summers, and I'll be your slayer for the evening."

* * *

"So this girl we're saving, is she a witch, too?" Xander asked making a sharp left turn and leaving the company truck's wheels squealing in protest. The two 'wizards' had told him very little about the situation, other than the fact that their magic was in no way related to Willow's magic (Xander was still scratching his head at the concept of wands).

Harry's knees knocked into Lupin and Xander's seats causing him to wince. He grabbed hold to a heavy tool box hoping that it would give him leverage. Xander muttered something about the girls taking the mini-van as an apology.

"_Yes_," Harry answered, making his annoyance clear. "Her name is Hermione, and she's one of the most intelligent witches of our year."

"That's nice. . ." Xander commented. "So, how come I've never heard of you wand wielding types before? Let me guess, it's a big guarded secret society thing, right? I bet you even pay for membership."

Lupin ignored the question and held tightly to his seat belt, his already pallid face turning colors as the crew-cab hit a bump. "You seem very comfortable with all of this information for someone who knows nothing of the magical world," he commented.

"World? So, I'm right—this is a first." Xander let loose a mock abash grin that would have had a Catholic nun ruffling his hair. In all honesty, he hadn't expected to get any information out of the two. Of course, he hadn't planned on giving any in return either. "I tend to fall into these type of situations—all things dark and of the wiggy are completely and totally attracted to me, though mostly it's just in a purely physical sense. I'd blame it on the devilishly good looking pirate patch, but it's fairly new."

Harry made a face and grasped onto his old professor's shoulder. "We should have apparated," he said.

"Harry, you don't know how to apparate, and I have absolutely no idea where we're going," Lupin answered. He turned back to the young man at the steering wheel.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Xander admitted, "but we're almost at the Book Cellar." He slowed the truck to a stop, parking at a street corner. "We're walking from here."

"Why?" Lupin asked.

"Because, the book store is less than a two blocks away from here—it's one of Giles' favorite haunts, so I'm use to driving here in a hurry. If I was a betting man, I'd put money on Buffy already being here. I mean, how many wizardy problems can there be in one Hellmouth."

"What's a Buffy?"

"You know about the Hellmouth?" Lupin asked.

Xander rolled his eye. "Nevermind, I've said too much already. Just be advised that my friends are probably already here and dealing with the situation, alright? I don't want to storm in and throw them off guard." He pulled an axe out of his truck bed, leaving the wizards with raised brows.

"I smell smoke," Lupin muttered, panic written across his face. "And blood. . ."

Xander looked at him. "I'll not question that."

The three walked down the sidewalk. Xander heard muffled voices up ahead and his pace quickened when they passed Giles' empty car. He could almost make out words when he reached the next street corner. Harry sped up, his wand ready.

"Hermione!"

* * *

Lucius Malfoy's grip tightened on Hermione's arm, but the young witch paid no attention. Her eyes had followed Voldemort's, finding the short, blonde standing in the middle of the street. Hermione caught her breath. The woman, Buffy she had called herself, radiated strength and power, though her frail appearance spoke a lie of weakness. Hermione had no idea who she could possibly be, but the sight of her made the witch's heart swell with Gryffindor courage—and hope.

Hermione balled her hand into a fist, and threw it into Lucius's nose. His oh-so-pure blood spilled out before he could even issue a cry of pain. Hermione slipped away from him, stumbling away and tripping over Draco's out stretched legs. She fell to the ground beside the bewildered Slytherin and on top of the smooth cover of _The Lord of the Dead. _

A spell sped through the air above her toward Buffy. Hermione winced, fully expecting the Death Eater's hex to hit its mark, but the woman made a graceful move, contorting her body to the side, just as the light passed her way.

"Just like a bad guy," Buffy grunted, at glaring the wands aimed toward her.

"Careful, Buffy," the man in her shadow snapped. Hermione had not even noticed he was there earlier.

The witch turned away. The Dark Lord was staring at the hidden man with a wicked grin stretched across his features. "What a familiar voice that is," he hissed. "Could it be? What a reunion! Rupert, why don't you come out and face your lord?"

No time to think of what was happening, Hermione pulled the book from beneath her, flipping open its pages.

"_The Lord of the Dead welcomes you back. Perhaps now you will call upon my armies, Hermione Granger?" _

Hermione caught her breath, fear coursing through her veins. "Yes," she said softy. "I. . .I need your help."

The book did not change its message, nor give her any answer at all. She looked up to see Draco Malfoy's wide gray eyes dancing over the book in her arms, and then up at her.

"What did you do?" he asked, in awe.

She could only assume that he had somehow lost his mind. "What are you on about, Malfoy?"

Before he could answer, she felt a tingling in her hands. She looked down to see her tanned skin turned pale and black, sickly veins running along her smooth forearm. Hermione gasped. Around her, fog seeped through the pavement, moans and cries of terror filling the air, until the smoky substance took shape. Shades, wraiths, entangled in one another with ghastly, pained expressions on their skeletal faces, passed over and through her. Their cold essence left her breathless as they swept by and moved on to the group of Death Eaters.

Then came the screams.

"Hermione!"

She could hear her name. The voice that spoke it was familiar, one that she cherished and loved. "Harry," she cried out. She fell back, dazed as a wave of euphoria shook her. The dark magic ravished her.

She could hear the anguished cries diminishing slowly with loud pops that told her of their end. Her head lolled to the side, and she saw the Dark Lord apparate with his followers. The shades remained where the wizards had stood. "Enough," Hermione said, her voice soft. As one, the ghostly beings fell back to the earth, back into her hellish surface.

Someone was bending over her, their features fuzzy. He leaned closer until his green eyes had fully captured hers. "Hermione, can you hear me?"

She smiled weakly. "Harry," she breathed, "what are you doing in Cleveland?"

A puzzled look came over the young wizard's face and then he grinned from ear to ear. "I was in the neighborhood."

"And Harry insisted we drop by," Lupin breathed, running to her side. He grabbed hold of her arm and helped her up, frowning when he saw the fragment of glass embedded in her thigh. She held the book with one arm, somehow managing to stand between them.

"What just happened?" Hermione asked.

The fear that had been tugging at both of their faces vanished when they realized that she was alright. "I think you just kicked Death Eater arse. . . And you somehow managed to make Malfoy faint," Harry laughed.

Sure enough, Draco lay a few feet away, eyes closed and mouth half open. "What did I do to him?" she muttered.

"I'm guessing you stole some of his life force," answered an unfamiliar voice. Hermione turned to see a dark haired man with an eye patch frowning at her. "That sometimes happens when you mess around with powerful magic. I'm just the normal guy, and I know that much."

Hermione blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Hermione," Lupin began. "These people came to help you. I don't know exactly how they all knew that you were in danger, but they did. This man is Xander, and these other two, I assume, are his friends."

The witch stared at the two men and the small blonde standing between them. "Then, I suppose I owe you a thank you."

"Actually," Buffy said, "I think you did all the work. But you could thank your old teacher, Bumbledore."

"Dumbledore," corrected the older man at her side, wiping his spectacles nervously. "Perhaps, we'd do better to discuss this back at the house. I have a feeling that this story will take some time to tell."


	7. Chapter 6: Somewhere Inbetween

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP, BtVS, AtS. **

**A/N: Yes, I know, another long break between updates. I'm truly sorry about that, and I have tons of excuses, but I won't give a one of them. Note that this is set directly after Order of the Phoenix so there is no Remus/Tonks relationship. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this. **

**_The Necromancer_**

**Chapter 6: Somewhere Inbetween**

The guilt that had for so long plagued him disappeared in that last moment.

His life seeped from him, but the look of grim determination on his face was ever present. He fought so hard with minutes that passed like decades. Demons flooded over him, as liquid and powerful as a tidal wave. Then came the pain and darkness and eventually a resounding peace. But it didn't numb him; he was still as human as ever. Where was the bright light everyone described? Wasn't his sister supposed to greet him, introduce him to the other fallen heroes at the 'pearly gates'?

There was only nothingness, a blurred memory of Spike's face, and flashes of fuzzy images with loud voices. Still, in essence, there was nothing solid. . . Except maybe the cool, stiff sheets scratching his skin.

"The wounds were quite extensive, but he's through the worst of it," said a Scottish accent. "We've made arrangements for him to transported to a nice muggle hospital--though, honestly, I hate the thought of those savage 'doctors' poking my patient with needles and thread."

A feminine, English voice answered, a smile hidden in her words. "Actually, there's no need for transport. He's to be kept in St. Mungo's until we can move him to a safer location."

"But he's a _muggle_! We'll run out of sleeping potion for the whole ward if we try to keep him sedated that long. And did I mention that he's a muggle?"

"I'm very aware of that, Portibus. As for your potions, we want him awake and aware. No more draught unless the patient requests it."

"_But he's a muggle!"_

Gunn's eyes flickered open, a look of confusion written across his features. The first thing he saw was a woman's grinning face, and in that moment, he thought that the Powers That Be might have given him a break and sent him on to a happy afterlife. Then he realized that he had a cramp in his leg and that his 'heavenly welcome party' had bubblegum pink hair.

"Wotcher, Charlie! How's the gut?"

Gunn arched a brow. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know your pants," the woman answered. She tossed something to Gunn. He didn't take the time to question her appearance or her strange robe-like clothing, instead examining the wallet in his hands. . . his wallet. "And your pants say that you're one Charles Gunn."

"I'm missing a twenty," he muttered. With a look beneath the covers at a very foreign pair of cotton PJs, he glanced back up. "And I would like to know where my interrogated pants might be--more importantly, where the hell am I?"

"I thought you'd get around to that eventually, Charlie."

Gunn winced. "Just Gunn, please."

"Good because I already have a friend named Charlie."

The woman nodded, and Gunn realized that a man was standing across the room. The man rolled his eyes. "You tell him. I've got a cauldron combustion to look in on." He walked out quickly, closing the door behind him.

The woman frowned, but her expression lightened when she looked back down at Gunn. "As it is, I prefer my surname over my first as well. I'm Nymphadora Tonks, auror. As for your question, your pants are in the wardrobe, and you are in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Granted, your injury wasn't so much magical as inflicted in a magically familiar circumstance and requiring a magical cure."

"Oh . . ." Gunn pushed himself up on both elbows, wincing at the slight soreness through his middle. "Magic hospital? So the guy who just left was. . ."

"A healer, yes. He did a nice job on you, too."

Gunn nodded. "How long have I been here?"

"I little over an hour," Tonks answered. "You know, you're taking this rather well for a muggle, non magic person. I suppose that comes from working with the ensouled ones."

"The others. . ." Worry crossed his face. "Where are they? Did they make it out?"

Tonks sat down lightly on the side of the bed. "I'm not sure actually. I found you with the vampire Spike, but I don't know about the others. I'm a bit concerned myself. Usually, cleanup doesn't take this long. I may need to go back. . ."

"Wait," Gunn snapped. "You mean you left them with the bowls of hell opening up into onto the street? What sort of help was sent? What did . . . ?"

"Calm down already," Tonks snapped back. "If they were alive when we arrived, then they're most likely alive now. The demon problem had been remedied, apparently due to the diplomacy of the American Wizarding Council. They called the Ministry of Magic in for help getting rid of the demons that were already on the loose. Don't worry, Gunn. Your friends will be alright. . . As long as they didn't let Moody escort them. . . Speak of the devil."

The door swung open, half blasted off its hinges. A man limped in, a hardened grimace on his scarred face and what appeared to be a wand in his hand. A round false eye rolled in its socket, as he looked wildly about the room. "_There you are!_" he all but shouted at Tonks in a guttural voice. "That boy better be ready for visitors already, or I'm going to blast these bloody bloodsucking scoundrels with so many hexes that you'll be able to fit the both of them in the same damned matchbox!"

Tonks hid a smile with one hand. "How was the clean-up, Moody?" she asked innocently.

The man's lips drew tight as he attempted to restrain himself. "The clean-up," he growled, "went rather well, if you dismiss the fact that we're returning with three of the bloody demons as our guests."

Gunn saw a familiar face lit with a sarcastic smile peek over the man's shoulder. "This one's a charmer, Charlie boy," Spike smirked, pushing past the old wizard. "Good to see you alive."

"So much for that 'one night left to live' thing," Gunn muttered with a faint grin.

The blond smirked, "Overrated. And you know Angel. . . . Melodramatic poof.

Moody held his wand hand in restrain moving out of the way to let two more 'guests' enter the room, a young woman with a disheveled hair and a wide, fake grin and a pale, dark featured man. Gunn watched Spike and Angel walk past the open window where the sun was shining, and he smiled up at them.

"Wards?"

"Of course," Tonks nodded. "St. Mungo's has a charm over the window for just this reason. Though they rarely receive a vampire, there are some plants and poisons that leave victims sensitive to sunlight."

Moody made a coughing noise, staring at the vampires. "And if there's ever a problem, those very wards can be lifted quite easily. A wouldn't make any aggressive movements, were I you."

"We won't," Angel said walking to Gunn's bed. He reached down and put a hand on the man's arm. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

"And he landed me a good punch when I told him I'd sent you off half-dead with a strange witch aura," Spike added.

"Auror," Tonks muttered.

Gunn was no longer paying attention, his eyes drifting over to his other 'guest,' the one wearing Winifred Burkle's face. "Do they. . .?"

"I'm fully aware of that one's nature," snapped Moody who had apparently been watching the group reunite. "Disguise does no good with an eye like mine. Might as well drop the innocent act, demon."

Fred's expression hardened, her jaw tight as she turned to face the wizard. A resounding voice that did not match her slight body issued from her mouth. "Then you know well that no deception was meant." She cocked her head. "I assume you would rather alarm this hospital to my presence than have me wear my shell?"

Moody looked away from her--it. "You can show your true form in this company, lest you have something to hide."

"You could not comprehend my true form," she answered haughtily. Nevertheless, her body transformed, her clothing melting into her blue armor, indigo staining her hair, eyes, and crackled skin. "Does this please you, wand-waver?"

Moody spoke under his breath, ignoring her. "Los Angeles is clean," he said to Tonks. "The Ministry's gone to do their paper work. Thankfully, they're too busy to pay much attention to our guests here. Dumbledore's asked us to bring them to a safe place, not that they need protectin'."

"We agreed to have you escort us to this hospital so that we could find our friend," Angel said, eyes lifting dangerously, "nothing more. We appreciate what you've done for Gunn, but we didn't ask for help. We can find our way out from here."

"So says you," Spike stated. "Place smells like London."

"With all due respect," Moody replied with anything but respect lacing his words, "you'll be comin' with us. Now Albus Dumbledore's a good man, not the kind who would send you blazing into the sun without reason. He's the one who sent word for the aurors to go to Los Angeles to aid you in the first place."

Moody's eyes scanned the room cautiously. "Word has it that you four and your fallen comrade were involved in some sort of prophecy. Tonight we'll be holding a meeting to discuss it. Now if you have any sense of gratitude in you at all, then you'll talk to Albus." At Spike's eye roll, he added, "And, if you happen to be lacking that bit of humanity, you may be more willing with the knowledge that Albus is presently inviting a few of your old associates--or so the gossip runs--to join us. I do believe her name is Buffy Summers."

**End Notes: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I decided to leave off the scene change until next chapterwhen I'll wave the big 'department of backstory' flag. I know this draws up some questions, but they will be answered in due time. Tell me what you think! **


	8. Chapter 7: Safe House

**Disclaimer: I still don't own HP or BtVS or AtS or Frodo who makes absolutely no appearance in this story. Yup.**

_**The Necromancer**_

**Chapter 7: Safe House**

"This is awkward," Hermione commented.

She squirmed, her spot on the sofa consisting of only a few, uncomfortable inches between a protective Harry and Remus. Her leg was still propped on the coffee table, even though Remus had performed a simple but effective healing charm several minutes ago. However the awkwardness of which she spoke had nothing to do with her best friend and former teacher's elbows jabbing her in the side. She was referring, instead, to the muggle spectators sitting across from them.

Each group had exchanged simplified versions of the events of the evening, careful to give _just enough_ information about their worlds. This hadn't worked very well considering that Rupert Giles had known rather a lot about the Wizarding World and that Remus Lupin had been given numerous reports on The Slayer. However, the "kids" in the room still seemed to be partially in the dark as far as these concepts were concerned.

Hermione's 'rescuers' were staring, rather rudely. For some reason, she couldn't stand those eyes on her, judging, wanting an explanation for the book balanced on her knees. Mr. Giles had attempted to no avail to study it earlier and had made no comments on it since. She had an odd feeling that the group before her had seen something similar in the past.

"I concur," answered the young man, straightening his eye patch. Mentally, Hermione wanted to refer to him as Mr. Harris, but he had been very affronted when introductions had come around, insisting they all call him Xander.

"Giles, I need to talk to you," Buffy stated, suddenly pushing off from the chair she'd been leaning on. She led the older gentleman away into another room without giving them a second glance.

Xander watched them go, looking as if he was rather upset about being left with their guests. "So. . . You're a teacher at this wizard's school?"

"Was," Remus answered and, with a cocked brow, inquired, "And you train slayers?"

"More like baby sit and volunteer to make distractions for them. I also go for donuts." Xander leaned forward. "Yup, quite the resume, I have. I'd probably be the only person in my position to include past love interests under work experiences." The room was silent. "As the lady said, 'Awkward.'"

_POP!_

1

"Giles, I want info. Now." Buffy crossed her arms, butt-kicking-chick pose a go. "You said we'd talk, so let's talk. Those people in the other room, Xander aside, seem to have a good knowledge of magic. Funny thing is, I don't know any Wicca who wave wands."

Buffy released a sigh as she watched Giles remove his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose. Add a cloth swiped over the lenses and the evening was definitely not going well.

"It's more complicated than that, Buffy," Giles stated, his voice soft.

"It's pretty easy—you speak, I listen. See? Two 'easy' steps," the Slayer snapped.

Nostrils flared, Giles didn't dare look her in the eyes, instead pacing the room. "There is more than one type of magic, Buffy. Some people are born with a natural ability to harness their powers through an equally powerful object. For the past few thousand years, most wizards and witches have been using wands. A more primitive example would be a staff or scepter with mystical properties. Other magicks, such as summons and basic Wiccan practices can be used by those otherwise skilled. A person without the ability to use wand-based magic is called a 'muggle'."

"Wow." Buffy stared at him a moment. "You really can make any subject boring." She cut off her ex-watcher before he could reply. "Now tell me what all of this has to do with our situation. Oh, and could you give me the cliffnotes on those badly dressed baddies we ran into."

"Wizards have a running society, one established in secret. They even have their own government and education systems. The wizard who led tonight's attack was one of the most villainous men to ever live. He is often referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or the Dark Lord, but he calls himself Lord Voldemort. He was born one Tom M. Riddle."

"What's with all long nicknames?" Buffy muttered.

"Over the years he has overseen the torture and murders of several members of

both muggle and wizarding society. He's quite infamous. For years, he was thought to be dead, but now, it seems, he's back."

"Evil guys are like that. Immoral cockroaches. So, those grim reaper guys were his followers?"

"Death Eaters." Giles turned Buffy. "They are dangerous, Buffy. I know."

"_Buffy!"_

"That was Xander," Buffy stated, running past Giles toward the living room. She came to a halt at the entry way, stopped by the presence of a tall, purple robed wizard being hugged by the young witch.

"We have a guest," Xander finished, cocking his brow in amusement. "Thought you should know."

_And you had to shout across the house like you were being attack by zombies? Again? _Buffy thought, jaw clenched.

"Oh, yes," stated the man. "We've already met. Had anytime to rest your feet yet, Miss Summers?"

Buffy blinked, surprised. _Fire man! _"Dumbledore, right?" She turned, seeing Giles at her side. "It's for you."

"Professor," Giles began. "I'm afraid we were too late to aid. . ."

"No time for that, Rupert. Miss Granger has been filling me in on the evening's events. Sadly, there is no time to grieve our losses," Dumbledore stated, frowning. "I'm afraid we must get this bunch somewhere safe, and soon. I know a family who will be more than happy to see them in for the night, until more suitable accommodations can be made."

"But. . . _We_, sir?" Giles asked. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I have things to do here. And I doubt Buffy will want to deal with the Ministry bureaucracy that will no doubt come into play."

"I must insist this involve you and Miss Summers, Rupert," Dumbledore interrupted. "You may not know it, but the Lord of the Dead will affect you and your slayers as much as it will our world. It would be best if two representatives of your Council could make an appearance and give the Ministry their opinion when we request that it is asked in the next day or so. This could mean that they take the say of the slayers before ever acting against them. Could you spare the time?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "You can't honestly be asking us to come with you? That wouldn't be very smart. . ."

"Of course, sir," Giles said, a hand on his slayer's shoulder. "Of course we can."

"Giles?"

"Later, Buffy. I promise," he hissed. "Headmaster, I don't know if it will be so easy. I left on, shall we say, rocky terms."

"Your past restrictions are being lifted as we speak. Now, there's little time, and I will not be joining you on this journey."

"Professor?" It had been the first time Buffy had heard the young, black haired wizard speak to someone besides his two companions and Xander. She watched him carefully, studying his thin frame. (With hundreds of girls to care for, she had found herself keeping an eye out for boys who might threaten her slayers—even if it was in a rather attractive sense.) "We're going without you?"

"I will see you and Hermione sooner than you might expect, Harry," the old wizard smiled. "However, I will need to go straighten some other business out at the moment. Remus, I will need you to come with me." Dumbledore pulled something from his robes, a tiny sack from the looks of it. He tossed it in Rupert's direction. "I expect you still know how to use floo. One of the children can help you if you don't."

Buffy tilted her head. _We're flying?_

"But, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said. "What about Malfoy?"

Dumbledore looked dumbfounded for the moment. "Oh, yes," he said slowly. "Good question. He's being restrained at the moment?" At Hermione's nod, he continued, "Then take him with you. Molly will, likely, be less than thrilled, but that's just another mouth to feed, I suppose."

"Professor? Where are we flooing to?" Giles asked.

"For tonight. . . The Burrow."

**End Note: Sorry. That chapter was a bit crappy and rushed, but I couldn't fix it at the moment. I did have reasons for the out of character statements from Giles. Anyhow, the next one should be interesting. Enter shipping and confrontations (not to mention less people to talk through). Review with comments or suggestions. **


	9. Chapter 8: Hello, Lover

**Disclaimer: Oh, bother. Nope, I still don't own Angel the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Harry Potter. **

**A/N: I hope I'm not messing anyone up with all the scene changes. Anyhow, enjoy. Tell me if there's anything you guys want to happen later in this fic. Oh, and for recap, Remus and Dumbledore are traveling separately. Buffy, Giles, Harry, Hermione, and Draco are flooing together. **

_**The Necromancer**_

**Chapter 8: Hello, Lover**

Flooing and Buffy did not mix.

This she realized as she pulled herself off the floor, covered in more ash and filth than she usually was after a long night of slaying. She was intent on telling Giles how very much she didn't like being told what she would be doing with her evening when she noticed that she was being stared at like a gold fish in a plastic cup.

Harry and Hermione, both of whom seemed to have been speaking to a red-headed young man, were now staring at her and the fireplace, as if they hadn't quite expected her to make it to The Burrow after them. A girl with a bright mane just as pumpkin colored as the unnamed boys appeared, taking the attention of the other teens.

"Welcome, welcome, dear," greeted a plump, cheerful woman. "My name is Molly Weasley. I've been told all about you. Buffy? You should probably move out of the way, dear."

Buffy stepped out of the way just as Xander stumbled out of the fireplace, the constrained form of Draco Malfoy thrown over his shoulder. Buffy was happy that her friend had opted to go with her after leaving a very long message on Andrew's answering machine and a messy note on the frig for the girls staying with him in Cleveland. She felt out of place enough—Xander would be sure to lighten the mood.

"I'm gonna drop 'em," Xander huffed, just as quickly letting the unconscious wizard slip from his arms and onto the planked floor.

The young man's head hit the wood with a thud and a grimace crossed his face, his eyes fluttering open. "What. . . .The. . . .Hell . . . .?" he murmured, wincing at the pain the fall had dealt. Obviously, it had left him more than a bit confused.

"Boney, but heavy," Xander explained. "Where do you want him?" his eye circled the room as he asked, looking for someone who might have an answer.

"I vote for the broom closet," Harry said, a slight smirk on his face.

"Seconded," the red-headed boy at his side all but shouted. "What? He likes brooms," he told Hermione.

"Sadly," Molly Weasley answered, "that's probably the best place for him right now—don't give me that look, Mr. Malfoy. There's a light inside—you won't be in the dark." She turned, calling across the house, "Fred! George!"

"Yes, Mother," replied two, mischievously overenthusiastic voices from the back of the room.

Buffy cocked a brow, wondering how she had failed to notice two rather attractive twin brothers sneaking into the room. _The Jr. Slayers would have a field day with those two, I'm sure, _she thought, grinning slightly as they smiled in her direction, obviously appreciating the presence of a mysterious, older woman. Or perhaps they were just looking forward to tossing the Malfoy guy in the closet.

Buffy realized something wasn't quite right with the picture and turned around just in time to see what was missing—Giles.

The Watcher didn't land on his rear end, barely stumbling as he made it out of a gather cloud of dust and ash. He looked up, taking off his glasses to give them a good wipe. "Molly," he muttered, replacing them on this face.

The woman smiled slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure it was the proper thing to do. "Hello, Rupert. Why don't you and I fix a pot of tea—Arthur should be home shortly. Let the children get settled." To Buffy and Xander, she said, "Make yourselves at home, dears! I'm sure I'll get to know you once you've settled and cleaned."

Then she walked out, somewhat distracted with Giles at her heel.

Buffy was partaking in much mental speculation when Xander's voice broke her from her thoughts. He seemed to be addressing the two teens who hadn't yet been introduced.

"So, I'm Xander Harris. Carpenter, construction worker, does donut runs, has a thing for Alpha females."

888888888888

Hermione took a step back, letting Ginny and Ron introduce themselves to Buffy and Xander.

Her head felt as if it was about to explode. Everyone was talking, so loudly, so much. No one seemed to realize that she wanted to be anywhere but there. She loved the Weasley home, but, at the moment, it didn't seem much like a sanctuary—it was more a prison. She'd come out of the fireplace with only enough time to greet Ron and Ginny, unable to tell them what had happened to her. And neither of them had asked her about the book in her arms.

Or about her.

Or her aunt Mina.

It was all so surreal, like a dream. Could she even tell them when they asked? Could she truly explain to them what she had done, what she had awakened? Could she tell them how she had almost went over the edge, stealing Malfoy's strength? Not yet.

'_Call upon my armies. . . .'_

Hermione blocked the memory of the Lord of the Dead, blinking away all that was around her.

"Hermione?" Harry was beside her, slipping out of the group. "Are you alright? Do you need to lay down?"

The witch shook her head. "I'll be fine, Harry. I think I just need to freshen up a bit. Tell Ginny that I'll be in the upstairs restroom when she finishes talking to Xander and Buffy."

Harry nodded, worried eyes following her as she escaped the room, talking the steps two at a time. She reached the bathroom door, the slightest bit of dizziness shaking her as she opened it, stumbling in.

"Whoa, love!"

Arms wrapped around her catching her before she could collapse. She held still a moment, finally regaining her balance enough to look up. It was man cradling her, a man she had never seen before. He had platinum blond hair (obviously not his natural color by Hermione's judgment) and skin pale as moon light. His shirt was ragged, torn in spots, stained in others, but he had unbuttoned it, leaving his chest bare, fresh cuts and bruises shining proudly.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, trying to take her footing.

The man lowered her down onto the covered toilet seat. "No bother to me. You don't look like you belong to that red-headed bunch I just met. Were you here earlier?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I just arrived. I'm a friend of the family's, Hermione Granger."

She let a question hang in the air. The man answered it with a slight smirk.

"Beauty of a name, Hermione. I'm Spike. I'll be stayin' here overnight. I've got an old friend who is supposed to arrive. I was just getting a bit cleaned off first."

"I should have knocked," Hermione apologized. "I'll be going."

"No need. I'm heading back downstairs in a moment." Spike looked down, buttoning he shirt he was wearing. He gave Hermione a sideways glance. "You look like you've had as hell of a night as I did."

The witch nodded, looking away as the image of her aunt's hanging body took over her mind's eye. She felt her eyes burn at the memory, so recent, so fresh.

"You alright?" When she didn't answer, his eyes drifted down to the large text in her hands. "Plan on spending a lot of time on the throne?"

Hermione smiled softly at his comment.

"Were there any others who arrived with you, by any chance?" Spike asked. "A girl—woman?"

"_Spike?_"

Hermione's eyes followed the man's to the spot outside the hallway where Ginny was standing beside a stiff looking Buffy. The Slayer's eyes were wide, lips barely parted.

Spike simply stared at her a moment, as if taking in her whole presence. "Hello, lover," he whispered.

**End Notes: To recap, Giles is downstairs with Molly, Draco is being put in a broom closet by Fred and George, Hermione is a bit freaked because of all the things that have happened over the past few hours and Buffy just realized that Spike is alive…Ok, anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this shorty. I'll be updating again soon—because I can't leave you with that little cliffy. I just wanted to mention that I will be bringing in other favorite characters soon, such as Willow. **

**So review with comments and suggestions. **


	10. Chapter 9: The Wardrobe

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP, Ats, or BtVS. Or a bunny, a Corvette, a Cocker Spaniel, a mansion, the state of Texas**…**.I could go on, you know. **

**A/N: I'll be revising the previous chapter to get rid of all those nasty mistakes riddled through them. Forgive me. . . .Alas, I know not proper grammar. **

_**The Necromancer**_

**Chapter 9: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe**

"Rupert. . . . Or are you still going by Ripper these days?"

Molly walked into the kitchen, leaning against the sink where pots were scrubbing themselves midair. She crossed her arms, staring at the man who was shutting the door behind him.

"Buffy has exceptional hearing," Giles began, a pointed glance toward the room they had just left.

"I honestly don't care," Molly snapped. "Those other guests staying in _my home_ have very good hearing as well, supernatural, actually. But at the moment, I'm going to let the fact that _my home_ has recently become a hotel for some of the most dangerous creatures in history pass—because it's not them I'm currently angry with."

Giles opened and closed his mouth like a guppy, somewhat backed down by the furious woman before him. When he'd first arrived, the sparkling, happy hostess in her eye had deceived him into believing that maybe she had forgiven or forgotten their past together. . . . Obviously, he was wrong.

"Speak, you bloody bastard," she hissed, giving her sons a run for their knuts. Her voice was low, more dangerous than any of her children had ever heard. Thankfully, none of them were in the vicinity. "I said speak!"

"What do you want me to say, Molly?" Giles asked, meeting her enraged gaze. "Do you want me to apologize? I do. I'm honestly sorry that I hurt you, but I can't pretend that I'm sorry I left." He took a shallow breath, approaching her. "Are you sorry? I doubt it. You have a happy life, Molly. Beautiful children, a husband—I kept track of you off and on until I heard the announcement for Charlie's birth. You moved on. It was the right thing to do."

"Yes. I did move on." Molly face was flushed in emotion. "And I am happy—so much happier than I would have been with you. I did do the right thing. However, I was referring to you, as you well know—you are the one who made the mistake." She looked away from him, taking the tea kettle off of the eye of the stove with a flick of her wand. "You're the one who made the mistake. . . ." she repeated, softly. "This discussion isn't about our relationship. I'm not angry about that. I'm bitter because you never came back to your true friends. You let that stupid sorcerer lead you toward the dark arts. Then, when you turned from all that, you didn't come back and help us."

Giles' frowned deepened as he watched the rim of her eyes redden with unshed tears. Molly continued, "I was suffering so much. . . .Loosing my family to this war throughout the years. . . .And you were powerful enough to help—but what did you do? You left evil for a pile of books to make your father proud, to try to make up for your rebellious years."

The man reached out, trying to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. "I didn't know how to make things better, Molly. I couldn't use my wand anymore and the other magicks. . .I wouldn't go down that path again. It was my weakness, and it was the only thing that could possibly help your cause. If it helps you to know, I've fallen off that straight, Watcher's path quite a few times, trying to fight with the side of good."

Giles stepped back. "There's a girl out there in the other room who is proof of that. I think we both made the right choices, Molly. . . .We just weren't meant for the same world."

Molly cocked her head, lips pursed. "Then what are you doing here, Rupert?"

00000000000000000000

Draco drug his feet, a scowl across his face as he struggled against Fred and George's hold on the ropes confining his arms against his body. The twins, being almost a foot taller than the 'Slytherin Prince' and quite a bit stronger only looked at one another with amused smirks.

"Come on!" Fred said.

"Get in already," George added.

"It's not like there's a particular large rat. . . ."

"Waiting to nibble at your toes. . . ."

Fred grinned. "Just a boggart or two: nothing that scary."

"I. Am. Not. Going. In. That!" Draco growled, glaring at the wardrobe as if he could somehow make it explode with his mind. "This isn't a broom closet! This is. . . .This is a box!"

"Oh, do shut up," George said, rather politely.

The twins reached forward, wrenching open the doors in one elaborate movement. Draco grew still between them, an arched brow raised, his mouth forming a little 'O'. Obviously, broom closets could come in more than one size.

Through the rather small entrance lay a wide, circular foyer, three closed doors branching out. And, indeed, a small stack of brooms sat against one wall of the entrance. Fred and George did not have to use much force to drag Draco into this 'closet'.

"This is just a rental, before you get too impressed," Fred stated. He shared a mischievous look with his brother before adding, "It's for our guests—the ones who don't like sunlight and their friends. What room should we drop him in, George?"

"Well, one's empty at the moment, but I vote we put him in with the blue thing. . . .err. . . .woman," George answered, hiding his amusement. "I believe she'd get along quite famously with our young Mr. Malfoy. They have quite a bit in common."

Fred nodded. "Both assuming they're gods and all."

Draco's eyes widened. "Blue?"

0000000000000000000

"Hello, lover."

Spike stared at her, somewhat abashed, but his eyes told that he was watching for a reaction.

Buffy blinked, slowly, deliberately, as if seeing if he'd go away. When he didn't, she took a step forward, a sigh issuing from her lips. With one hand, she reached out, touching his arm, giving it a little squeeze.

"You're real," she said. "You're really here."

"That I am, slayer," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I came back, soul and all."

Before the two witches beside them could react, Buffy had pushed herself into his arms, giving him a short hug. "I'm glad you're with us. When did. . . ."

"Not too long after the Hellmouth sunk," Spike explained. "The amulet was sent to Angel's crew, and I popped in, all ghosty."

"Wait a minute. . . .You've _been_ back?" Buffy pushed away from him, throwing up a hand that smacked Spike across the cheek. The vampire winced. "You were back all this time and didn't tell me!" she snapped, her tone bitter.

"You didn't know?"

The question didn't come from Spike, but someone else, further down the hallway. Buffy tensed, watching that shadow move forward.

Angel frowned at Spike but automatically looked back to Buffy. "I assumed Andrew told you about him."

Buffy didn't answer, jaw slack. She took a cautious step forward. "Angel," she whispered. "You made it out of L.A." The slayer glanced from vampire to vampire. "Can someone tell me why I haven't been in 'the-know' as of late? What? Does Hell _always_ have to rise before anyone speaks to me? I can't believe you two!"

"Excuse me," Ginny interrupted. "Hermione and I will be heading to the other room, so that you can have a bit more privacy. Just ignore us," the red-head finished with sarcastic smirk.

The witch grabbed Hermione's arm, pulling her along to the girls' bedroom. "I don't know if they're going to fight or snog," she hissed to her friend. "But I don't want to be here for either."

Buffy shook her head, hearing the girl. "I vote for fight," she said, crossing her arms.

**End Notes: Funny note here, my glasses broke before I was even half way finished with this, so I had to cut this chapter off a bit short. (I'm having a rather hard time reading the screen right now.) I swear the next one will explain the rooming, Giles's past, and give a better reaction scene between Spike, Angel, and Buffy. **

**Review and tell me what you think. **


	11. Chapter 10: Old Ones, New Ones,

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter, BtVS, or Ats. No copyright infringement attempted.**

**A/N: Well, thank Patricia de Lioncourt for the update. She's been pestering me to begin reworking this story. I haven't actually had a chance to rework the previous chapters (to fit my current writing style), but I thought I'd go ahead and update. **

**Chapter 10: Old Ones, New Ones, and Forgotten Ones**

Gunn looked up at the light tapping on the door. It opened before he could reply, a pink head of hair peeking inside.

"Decent?" Tonks asked, entering before he had a chance to answer. "Don't get up," she added, seeing the man shift against the blankets. "Get any rest yet?"

"Well, since I've been alone for less than thirty minutes, I'd say no," Gunn reply, a slight smile on his face nevertheless. One had a hard time playing the grumpy patient card when they were staring at pink hair. "So, what's the deal with this place?" he asked.

Tonks looked puzzled a moment before she realized that he was asking about the wardrobe itself. "Oh, it's a rental," she replied. "We figured Molly and Arthur wouldn't be able to host the lot of you overnight without a little extra space."

For the first time, Gunn realized the woman was holding a small platter in her hands. It held a half spilt glass of juice and a steaming bowl of soup.

"Is that from our hostess?" Gunn asked. He'd only see Mrs. Weasley for a moment before he was half carried from the fireplace to the wardrobe's expansive rooms. At Tonk's nod, he added, "Remind me to thank her."

Tonks sat the platter down on the bedside table and took a seat on the edge of Gunn's bed, forcing the man to scoot over. She slid further onto the bed and crossed her legs, propping her elbows on her knees.

Gunn blinked. "Umm. What are you doing?"

"I've been given strict orders to watch our guests," she answered curtly.

"So, what about the others?"

Tonks looked as if she was pushing down a grin. She shook her head in the opposite direction. "The blue creature is in the next room and the ensouled ones are upstairs, fighting over an old flame. I sent Moody after them."

"Buffy?" Charles speculated, smiling to himself. He shook his head. "Hope this Weasley woman has good insurance."

"Insurance?"

A sudden burst of laughter cut off their conversation. It was followed by a muffled screech from outside.

Tonks turned toward the closed door. "The twins," she explained. "Though I can't quite place the scream."

She stood quickly, walking to the door. The auror stepped out into the foyer, when she returned, her grin was huge and her hair had darkened to a deep burgundy. Gunn blinked that fact away.

"What's up?" he asked.

Tonks nodded toward the opposite door. "My criminal cousin's locked in the room with your blue friend. He doesn't seem very happy about it."

There was a strange thump on the wall. It was followed by a stream of knocks. The sounds suddenly faded away. Tonks' grin faded with them. She turned back to Gunn.

"This Illyria, she wouldn't do anything to him, would she?"

Gunn shook his head. "Nah." He stiffened slightly. "I don't think so. . ."

* * *

0)0(0

* * *

"Merlin, I'm sorry," Ginny whispered, leaning back against the headboard of the small bed. "That must have been horrible."

Hermione sat beside the other girl, her legs out in front of her, the book that had caused her so much trouble balanced on her legs. It was shut. Ginny hadn't asked to see it open, thankfully.

"It hasn't really sunk in yet," Hermione said, "that she's dead. I know it sounds awful, but all I can think about right now is what this book means. Why it says my name—and what kind of magic could make me steal another wizard's powers for strength. I just wish I had answers, but no one's talking about it, not directly. It's so odd."

" I wouldn't worry about the stealing just yet—I mean, it was just Malfoy." Ginny's eyes shifted to the book's cover. "And you're certain that you can't just destroy it."

"I don't think it's that easy." Hermione let out a shallow breath. "And, frankly, no one who knows about it has hinted that it needs to be destroyed. Dumbledore didn't say a thing about it. It's rather frustrating." Hermione shook her head, suddenly taking in the red head's tense form. "I'm so sorry, Ginny—I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Ginny shook her head. "No, you should be talking to me about this. If anyone knows what it's like to be manipulated by a bloody book, it's me." She coughed, trying to cover her sudden awkwardness. "So, have you figured out who this High Necromancer fellow was, the one who's talking to you through the book."

Hermione cocked her head, her brow furrowed. "Not really."

"I'd start there," Ginny replied. "If I were you, I'd start by finding more out about this old kook—that's where your answers'll be."

"That's not a bad idea."

Ginny smirked. "You're not the only clever one, you know."

* * *

0)0(0

* * *

Molly's glare was piercing. Rupert could feel it burning through his neck, even as he lifted his glasses to rub down his weary eyes.

"Molly, I never would have disturbed your life again if Dumbledore hadn't asked me to be a part of this," Giles began. "My slayer and I aren't here to cause trouble for you. We're representatives of the new Watcher's Council."

"Then you'll be leaving after the meeting tonight?" Molly asked. Before he could answer, she cut him off. "Good. I'll give you board for one night, Ripper. Then you're gone. If you've nothing other than business that needs taken care of, I suggest you get to work."

"Molly, dear," a voice chirped. Arthur Weasley stepped into the kitchen, quickly crossing the distance to reach his wife. He embraced her solemnly, communicating to her without words. "Dumbledore contacted me about our guests. I . . ."

His voice dropped off when he realized there was another person in his kitchen. He turned to the table with a raised brow.

"Rupert?" he asked.

Giles looked up, a steady frown on his face, he saw out of the corner of his eye, a cautious Moody in the door frame, watching the two wizards. "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur's fist connected with the Watcher's cheek in a split second.


	12. Chapter 11: For Your Viewing Pleasure

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter, BtVS, or Ats. No copyright infringement attempted.**

**Chapter 11: For Your Viewing Pleasure**

Accusations. Curses.

The shouting match on the second floor to The Burrow was nearly shaking the entire house, but the current participants were not letting up, at least not willingly.

Buffy stormed down the narrow stairs, her eyes on the wallpaper, blood in her tight cheeks.

"We're not discussing this," she stated.

If anyone else had heard those words, her livid tone, they would have dropped the subject, but Angel bound behind her, grabbing hold of her shoulder. His touch wasn't hostile, but her body tensed as if he were an attacker. He let go before she had a chance to flip him off the staircase and ruin the Weasley family's furniture. She turned on him, stomping up two stairs to meet him.

"Do you really want to get into this here?" she asked.

Angel was immune to her anger. "Yes, because otherwise I won't get a chance. Buffy, you keep acting like this is my fault, but you're the one who decided to toss the trust between us out the door. I came to you before you had to take on the First—I came to help you."

"I know that," she snapped, pushing back a strand of blond hair that had flown into her face.

In truth, she was more flustered that she appeared, and what frustrated her to an even greater extend was the fact that Angel could ignite her anger after all this time. If it had been anyone else, she would have been solid, a rock that could be hurled with direct precision. Instead she was tripping over her own words.

"I know you wanted to help, Angel," she continued, her voice low. "But the fact remains that you went to work for the wrong team. That trust issue _is_ your fault."

"You would have done the same thing," he said, his voice bitter. "To save lives, you would have done the exact same thing."

"That's where you're wrong!" she snapped, her voice rising once more. "I was given a choice. I was offered the power to take on the First by myself. But I knew what that meant and I knew what I'd lose for it. Everything has a price, Angel."

Her eyes wandered up the staircase, catching a set of blue ones near the top. Spike was lagging behind the two, purposefully. Buffy felt her cheeks grow even hotter. She should have known, should have been given the chance to know, to come out of mourning.

"What I did had a high price, you're right," Angel hissed. His voice had dropped to dangerous level as he regained her attention. "That doesn't give you the right to act as if you're better, Buffy. I did what I did for a reason, too. I paid my price. You should have trusted in me, but I knew you didn't. Hell, you didn't even trust me to get one of your slayers help."

Buffy grew still, crossing her arms. "Help? You would have helped her? Really? That's funny because I was under the assumption that you would have sent her to someone inside your evil firm for help." Her eyes darkened. "You would have put a disturbed slayer in their hands. And you didn't expect me to stop you?"

"That's not true, Buffy," a voice answered.

It took Buffy a moment to realize that it was Spike's. She blinked in surprise.

"You know it isn't," Angel growled. "How could you possibly think that?"

"How could I not!" Buffy scoffed. She shook her head, suddenly noticing her surroundings. "This isn't the place for this."

She turned to go.

"If we don't talk about this now, we'll never talk about it," Angel said.

"This discussion is over, Angel."

Angel opened his mouth to speak, his jaw set tightly in rage. Spike stepped down, putting a patting hold on his grandsire's shoulder.

"Later," Spike assured.

Angel closed his mouth, lowering his head in thought.

"What just happened?" the slayer asked. Buffy had heard Spike's reply and come to a stop at the bottom step. She looked up, her brow wrinkled in mock confusion as she stared in wonderment at the vampires. "Oh, that's great. So you two are getting along now. I guess there is another apocalypse coming after all. Lucky me."

Spike groaned.

* * *

o)0(o

* * *

Xander leaned back into the sunken seated sofa, literally piddling his thumbs as he watched the two teenage boys nearly fall out of their seats in attempt to see the on-going fight between the slayer and her ex-lovers. They didn't have a problem hearing it, of course.

"So," Xander said.

Ron and Harry turned back from staring through the foyer opening, their eyes somewhat dazed. Xander was mentally chuckling at the two. Apparently Buffy's affairs were far more entertaining to outsiders. Xander, on the other hand, was feeling a bit awkward with the whole display. Ron had just finished telling Harry about the other "guests" staying at the Weasley house when the argument had broken out, and Xander wasn't quite sure how he felt about the arrangement. Especially considering he didn't get along with either vampire very well. And that he had no idea how Spike was actually amongst the nonliving again.

"Go figure," Xander muttered to himself.

He'd thought about standing, coming to Buffy's defense. Then he realized that he wasn't sure if that would be a good idea. Discussions of Angel and with Angel were a bit dangerous for those with mere human strength.

"Are they always like this?" Ron asked.

Harry gave his friend a sharp glance before looking to Xander for the answer.

"You should see them when they're fighting," Xander smirked.

Ron's mouth dropped a bit lower. "Nutters," he hissed to Harry, his eyes going back to the lively staircase.

"They have a history, then?" Harry asked, his voice almost drowned out by Angel's yell.

"Oh, no," Xander said, quickly, "I'm not being story guy. You can take this little squabble as you will. It's not my history."

"What is, then?" Ron asked, turning back to the man. The red-head's eyes lifted uncertainly to Xander's black patch.

"What is what?"

"Your history." Ron smiled sheepishly. "When you came in, you mentioned something about demon women and such. What does your group actually do?"

"What does your group do?" Xander countered with a crooked grin.

The two came to a stand-off. Harry looked between them, a somewhat tired expression on his face.

"This is going to be an interesting evening," he noted.

* * *

o)0(o

* * *

To say Gunn was shocked by the sight before him would be a grave understatement. The man shook his head, putting a hand on the auror at his side's arm to stop her from advancing. He wasn't sure exactly how powerful Tonks was, but he didn't want to chance her getting between Illyria and the Old One's newest endeavor.

Endeavor. Gunn hoped to God that was the right word. Anything else might be downright disturbing.

"So, Illyria, having fun yet?" Gunn asked, somewhat hesitantly.

The Old One cocked her head, her piercing gaze meeting his in an instance. She didn't seem interested in the woman to his side.

Draco did. In fact, we looked as if he wanted something from Tonks. Help perhaps?

The young wizard was sprawled in the remains of the chair he'd been tied to, his hands over the fragments of rope that had restrained him. He was paler than pale, his hair in disarray, and his head bowed nearly to the floor and turned slightly. He had a look of desperation on his face as he lowered his cheek against the wood below him in a deep bow.

A bow. Gunn bit back this laugh, cataloguing the moment. He figured this wouldn't be as funny to the wizard servant at Illyria's feet.

"I approve of this one's form," Illyria stated. She kicked Draco's arm out from under him lightly, and he fell with a smack onto his stomach. A slight whimper escaped him. "Has he been claimed by another sovereign yet?" she asked, her voice calculating.

"You could say that," Tonks snorted.

Draco looked up at her with frightened eyes, shaking his head furiously. Tonks cut off her laughter, suddenly worried.

Illyria did not look at the witch, only Gunn. "He will entertain me," she noted. "I have not had a pet in many ages."

"OK." Gunn took a breath, giving the wizard a pitying glance. "How 'bout we talk to this over with Angel at dinner?"

Illyria was silent a moment longer before she curtly answered. "Very well. Leave now."

Gunn backed out of the room, shutting the door. He looked over to Tonks who seemed somewhat dumbfounded by Illyria's directness. "This is going to be an interesting evening."

**End Notes: I hope this chapter was alright. Sorry for the long wait. The next chapter begins the evening's dinner…a long affair, indeed. We'll get back to the plot line there. Expect to see our favorite old headmaster and maybe even a dark, long nosed professor later. Enjoy! Oh, and thoughts on pairs would be good. I have some ideas to work with, but not for most of the side pairings. Advice is always helpful. Thanks! **


	13. Chapter 12: Curiosity Minus the Cat

**Chapter 12: Curiosity Minus the Cat**

"I suppose I deserved that," Rupert muttered, gently tapping the blood from his swollen lip with two fingers.

"Right you did," Molly muttered.

She dampened the corner of her hand towel and handed it to the man without looking at him. Giles nodded in thanks before looking to the wizard who'd delivered the blow. Arthur stood a few feet from him, nostrils wide to take in a loud breath, his back to Moody, who remained in the door way, chuckling lightly.

Arthur clapped his hands together in attention. "Well, now that that's over, ol' boy," he began, "let's have one."

Giles stood with a small smile at his broken lips and awkwardly embraced the taller man in a quick hug, patting his back curtly. "Good to see you, Arthur," Rupert said.

Arthur's own grin was tight, his lips almost absent entirely. Rupert knew at once that the man was stopping himself from saying whatever had first crossed his mind.

"Keeping yourself well these days?" Arthur asked, politely. He didn't wait for an answer. "We get word of your group at the Ministry, every once in a great while. I was sorry to hear about your other watcher chaps last year. Glad you weren't with them."

"Yes." Giles nodded in agreement. "Very fortunate," he bit.

He couldn't help but notice Moody take a few steps forward. The older wizard's grumbling, low voice followed his movement.

"Funny thing," Alastor said, not sounding in the least humored. "Ministry seems to get wind of odd, some would say illicit, magical practices from some of 'your group' after the matter. Isn't that strange, how dark practices, like that little Wiccan's dabblings a few years back never reached our ears accept as rumor. Almost like someone was blocking us from finding out about them."

Giles didn't change his expression but his eyes grew steely. "Perhaps because there isn't such a thing as a proper magical reading on a Hellmouth?" he offered.

Arthur seemed to feel the ice in that reply and cleared his throat to interrupt the two men. "Suppose Dumbledore will give us a few answers when he gets here." He looked up at his wife. "Oh, by the way, Molly, dear, he and Remus might not arrive alone, so we should prepare an extra seat at supper, just in case."

Molly raised a brow. She'd already lost count of her current guests. "Well, shoo, then, boys," she said, all but herding the three towards the kitchen's exit. "I've got plenty to cook--Arthur, dear, send Ginny to the kitchen to help me, will you?"

She turned away from them, staring hard at the sink, her eyes burning in remembrance. "Bloody long night," she said, and swallowed a deep breath to calm her nerves and clear her mind of what she'd always called the "Ripper-effect." A good shot of fire whiskey would have done the job better. Molly shook away her frustration and clucked her tongue at a pile of spuds peeling themselves.

"Back on track, Molly girl. Let's get cracking. . . Oh dear, I wonder if the blue one eats," she pondered.

* * *

"Do you think Dumbledore will know?" Hermione asked. She leaned forward over her crossed legs, as if conspiring with the red head. "Do you think he already knows about the High Necromancer?"

"I suppose," Ginny said, brow furrowed. "But the question is, is he planning on telling us? By us, of course, I mean you--no one ever tells me anything." She smirked when Hermione tried to counter her, and continued, "You talked like it got pretty dangerous when you used that magic. . . The headmaster might not want to feed your curiosity."

"That would explain why he didn't mention the book when he saw me," Hermione answered. Instinctively, she pushed the book further away, nearly beneath the bed's pillow, as if to hide it from her sight. Her face was flushed and she dipped her head down. "I've never had any magic make me feel quite that way, Gin. And, even though I know it can't be good, it just. . . Well, it didn't feel like a bad thing. I was so scared then but now I, I realize it wasn't as horrifying as it should have been."

Ginny blinked, concern lining her face. "Hermione, you should be careful."

"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She was always careful. Except, of course, when she wasn't.

There was a knock at the bedroom door and the two girls sat up straight. Without receiving a reply, the knob turned and Ron peaked in.

"Decent?" he asked.

"Let's hope, perv," Ginny snorted.

Ron snorted in return. "You're my sister--not like I haven't see you dancing in your. . ."

He received a pillow to his face for the effort.

"And what if Hermione was changing?" Ginny asked, indignantly.

The boy's face quickly matched his hair. "Um, well. . ."

Harry pushed past him, the two boys entering the room. "Hello," he said, giving Ginny a slight smile. "Your dad sent us up for you."

"Mum needs help in the kitchen," Ron took up, suddenly remembering why he was there.

Ginny nodded--the burden of the only daughter, kitchen duty--and glanced back at Hermione. "We'll talk later," she assured, with a raised, warning brow.

She slipped past the wizards. Ron quickly shut the door behind her, giving Harry a look of relief.

Hermione stood from the bed. "I thought you two would be mingling with the guests."

"Well, 'the guests' just started up fighting again, so we thought we'd escape," Harry answered, smirking. His emerald eyes went past Hermione, seeing the corner of the book on the bed. A voice seemed to be whispering to him. Without trying to hear it, he shook it off. "Thought we'd stop in for a visit. How are you, Hermione, really?"

She ignored his intense gaze, shrugging, wanting to brush away his offer to listen. Before she could reply, two strong arms were latched around her torso, pulling her into an awkward hug. Hermione blinked in surprise at Ron's chest pressed against her face.

"I'm so sorry about your aunt, 'Mione," he whispered into her hair. "Harry told me what happened."

Hermione felt the heat rising to her face and quickly wiped her eyes. The sudden swell of emotion had taken her off guard. She bit her bottom lip, holding back.

"Thank you, Ron," she said, gently sliding out of his hug. Harry's worried gaze caught hers. "I'm a bit numb from it all at the moment," she lied. "But I'm sure it'll catch up with me soon. Can we just talk about something else for now?"

Ron nodded, abashed. "Course we can."

Harry stared at them, somewhat distracted by the pulsing in his ears. He shook his head, clearing it. "So, vampires," he began, trying to start over. At Hermione's raised brow, he clarified, "Downstairs. Supposedly discussing some past affair with a vampire slayer. Strike anyone else as odd?"

Hermione looked somewhat skeptical. "I'm fairly certain Xander and Mr. Giles aren't vampires, Harry." She suddenly remembered meeting the blond man in the bathroom and his somewhat strange greeting with Buffy. "Oh, Spike!" she realized. "And the other man, I believe Buffy said his name was--"

"Angel," Harry finished. "Xander just filled us in a bit, well, as much as he was willing."

"Which wasn't very much, truth be told," Ron added. "But Mum told me a bit about our guests before you lot arrived. She was somewhat panicked about them being here, actually. Thought it was the vampires who had her in a tizzy, but she's recruited them to help prepare the squash, so now I'm thinking she was more wary of the blue one."

"Blue?" Hermione took a seat.

Harry seemed just as puzzled and gave Hermione a small grin. "A vampire who ate a smurf, perhaps?"

"What's a smurf? You mean the imp?" Ron asked, perturbed. He brushed the question off and sat down on the bed beside Hermione. "She ain't a vampire of any sort, she's an Old One's what Mr. Gunn said."

"Mr. Gunn?" Harry asked.

"Another person you haven't met. He's human. Tonks is taking care of him," Ron snapped, frustrated.

Hermione blinked. "Another guest? Tonks is here? How many people are in the Burrow right now?"

"Bloody hell, would you stop interrupting my story--and to answer you, I have no idea. Lost count already, but I suppose they'll be more come supper." Ron took a breath. "Now, as I was saying, Mum got a bit iffy around the blue one, and she told us lot not to be around her. Before I could ask what she was, you were at the floo, but from the talk of the others, I'd say she was some sort of demon. What do you think?"

"Blast!" Hermione snapped. The two boys stared at her in shock. She blushed. "Sorry, I just realized that a good portion of my books are in the States. They would have been a great help right now, as I'm fairly certain that I've heard the phrase "Old One" before. And I think you're right, Ron, it seems they were related in some way to demons."

"What exactly are we referring to as demons?" Harry asked. "In class, when we studied vampires, we didn't refer to them as demon."

"That's because the recommended courses of study in most wizarding schools don't fully discuss demon theory," Hermione explained. "Demons are not necessarily what muggles associate the word with, all hellfire and brimstone to them. Demon is a somewhat loose term, and it simply refers to any magical creatures with a very particular evolutionary history. Most of the magical creatures we study in the wizarding world are not from the demon line; however, vampires are one of the main exceptions, as they are found in such abundance in most parts of the world and are a definite threat when not controlled."

"I've never even heard of demon theory," Ron muttered.

"Well, that's because one would have read about it, Ronald, not 'hear' about it." Hermione bit down her smirk, trying to scold him. "Honestly, you should take more advantage of the library."

"I don't think all books are worth reading," Ron said, suddenly solemn. He was looking over her shoulder, seeing the edge of the book beneath her pillow.

Hermione pursed her lips and turned away from him, pulling the large book free. She put it on her lap, trying to the hide the electrifying sensation its touch sent her fingertips. Ron instinctively scooted down from her, his eyes staying on the front, almost fleshy looking cover and reading the title.

"_The Lord of the Dead_," he said. His voice was faint, as if he didn't want the world outside to hear him. "Doesn't sound like a particularly cheerful read to me."

"Have you opened it again since. . .?" Harry's question trailed off.

"No," Hermione quickly replied, shaking her head. Her fingers tightened around the binding. "I haven't. I was thinking of it, though." She ignored Harry's frown. "Ginny and I were discussing how useful it would be to know the identity of this High Necromancer character, the one who wrote the book."

"Useful," Harry repeated. "You really think opening it would be the best way to find out."

"Dumbledore might know," Ron piped in. "You could ask him."

"That's what Ginny said," Hermione replied. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask him."

__

None but the heir of my legacy shall know. You will ask in vain.

Hermione blinked, looking up at the boys. She realized at once that she'd been the only one to hear the voice.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes upward. "Just do me a favor, Hermione. Don't open the book again, not until you've learned more."

She swallowed hard. "Not until I've learned more," she agreed.

Her fingers were trembling, her nails digging so deeply that she was afraid they'd soon reach the pages within.

A rapping on the door distracted her from the book's call. "Come in."

Fred and George arrived in two short pops, favoring an apparation over turning a knob. They flashed prideful grins, as if they'd just returned from curing world hunger.

"Oh, Ronnikins," Fred began.

George took up, "you're needed downstairs."

"Apparently Mum expected you and Harry to return and help her-"

"-'Feed twenty or so mouths within the hour.' We're not honestly sure if there's twenty of us here, but we'll go with it," George finished. When Ron and Harry simply stared at him, he waved his arms. "Up and about, men--we've chicken to battle."

The boys groaned, sounding more like their twelve-year-old selves than young men, and made their way to the door, shooting Hermione looks of remorse.

Hermione stood as well. "I can help," she said.

Fred gave her a sad smile. There was something intense behind his eyes that made her want to look away. Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought it might be distrust.

"Why don't you get some rest?" he suggested. "We'll come and get you in time for supper, right?"

Hermione was about to insist on helping Mrs. Weasley when another thought passed through her mind. "Where exactly did you put Malfoy?"

* * *

Rupert couldn't hide his grin as he watched Arthur Weasley recruit Angel and Spike for kitchen work. His sense of humor was in bad taste, he knew, considering the rather ridged state between himself and the wizarding family, but the stunned and somewhat confused expressions on the vampires' faces were priceless.

"Something amusing?" a voice snapped.

Giles blinked, turning to see that Buffy was still standing, her brow wrinkled in frustration at having the other half of her argument taken from her. Obviously, she was looking for someone to release her anger upon. It took Rupert only two seconds to realize that the situation was no longer quite as funny.

"No, of course not," he answered. He glanced up at the staircase, seeing Xander's backside as the one-eyed carpenter ushered the remaining young wizards upstairs and sped off to find himself a nice safe distance from the discussion.

"Did you know?" she asked, her voice sharp. "About Spike."

At Giles' stare, Buffy crossed her arms.

"Andrew." He looked down, knowing the answer would not suffice. "I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am," she bit.

But she didn't budge from her spot. She simply waited. Seconds passed and Giles took off his glasses, giving them a sweep of the cleaning cloth. He knew what she wanted.

"We should talk," Rupert finally admitted. "About a few things I might have left out when I told you about my troubled youth."

He thought of the others only a room away and gently touched her arm, leading her deeper into the house and to a short hall before the back door. Though he could hear the muffled sound of Molly's high, cheerful voice barking orders, he was fairly certain that she wouldn't be able to hear him over the bickering vampires. Not that she needed to hear it. Molly knew the tale better than most.

Buffy's green eyes were bright, softer as she watched his expression go from regretful to pained in seconds.

"So." She cocked her head. "Are you going to spill on your own or do I have to tip you over?"

**End Notes: Sorry for all the dialogue in this chapter, but I needed these conversations to take place so that I could move on to the action soon. **


	14. Chapter 13: Storytime

**Chapter 13: Storytime**

On the first floor above the ground level of The Burrow, at the end of a rather narrow hall was a single chair that seemed to serve little purpose and was most likely a spare from the downstairs dining room. Xander, having not been told exactly where he was supposed to be and wanting to avoid the inevitable bickering between the downstairs parties, decided that the chair was a perfect place to wait for the coming "meeting" over dinner.

Realizing he hadn't slept the previous night after a long day at work, he leaned back on the spindly legs and relaxed his head against the wallpapering behind him. He released a sigh at the peace the small spot afforded him. And was quickly dumped to the floor.

Xander scrambled to his feet, staring at the chair, which was hovering several inches above the ground.

"Holy Willow-fied, Batman!"

After a split second pause, the chair flew down the hall, making a sharp turn down the staircase.

Xander scratched his eye patch. "I am so not going to get used to that," he muttered before sitting back down on the floor.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and Harry and Ron stepped out, quietly talking to one another in hushed whispers. They seemed obvious to the man watching them and quickly followed the chair down the stairs. The pair wasn't followed by the two other red heads walking behind them. The twins expertly turned before they hit the stair case and approached Xander.

"You know, we do have chairs," one of the boys noted.

"They're good for sitting on," the other added.

"Yeah, but you know chairs," Xander mused, "totally unreliable. According to the one that was here three seconds ago." He stared up at them, his good eye squinted, and pointed at the boy to the right. "You're George."

The young man blinked. "Fred," he corrected.

"I'm George," the other insisted.

"No, you're not," Xander said. "You're Fred." He pulled a red Chinese marker out of his top pocket. "I marked George while we were downstairs."

The boys raised a brow, glancing down at George's sleeve where a waxy check mark was blended into the cloth.

Fred nodded. "Touché."

Xander stared past the boys' legs, seeing Hermione step out into the hall and quickly disappear up the stairs. He had no time to question the move, however, because the twins suddenly folded their lengthy legs, sitting down on the floor and staring expectantly at Xander.

"Can I help you?" Xander approached.

"We're waiting for you to prove your trustworthiness," Fred casually answered.

"After all," George noted, "you'll be staying in our house for the evening."

"On the same floor as our sister, no less."

Xander looked from one boy to the other. "You're kidding, right?"

"We, kid? Never," Fred insisted. He cleared his throat. "The test is simple. You must allow us to listen in on a secret conversation between your colleagues downstairs."

"If," George took up, "their conversation does not prove traitorous, then we will allow you to stay."

Fred looked very serious. "If, however, they're planning evil deeds behind our backs, then we'll use you as a hostage when we force your colleagues out of our home."

"You're wanting to listen to Buffy and Giles' fight?" Xander answered, slowly. "I'm fairly sure you'll be able to hear them from downstairs."

Fred looked offended. "Where's the fun in that?"

Xander's eye widened when George pulled out of his pants pocket what appeared to be a detached ear attached to a string. "What the hell is that?"

The wizard shook his head to one side, motioning Xander to move. The man slid down, noticing for the first time that the wall behind him had a rectangular cover over a small area. The boys pulled it free, revealing a vent.

"So, basically, that little speech on treachery was your way of getting me to move out of your way?" Xander asked.

Fred and George looked at one another. "Basically," they answered.

"Want to listen in?" Fred asked.

Xander smirked. "I've got nothing better to do."

* * *

"Are you going to spill on your own or do I have to tip you over?"

Giles smiled at the comment, but the grin was bitter. He wasn't particularly in the mood to share this story, but he gathered that he'd never really be in the mood for it. After all, he'd seen disappointment on her face before, when he'd done things that were less than admirable. Or told her of his past with Ethan.

Her hand touched his arm, drawing his attention. Buffy's eyes were still bright, but not quite so furious. In fact, it looked if there was a glimmer of fear where her previous anger had been.

"It can't be that bad," she said.

Her voice shook, ever so slightly, and in that moment she wasn't the leader of the slayers, she was the girl he'd come to love like a daughter. She would forgive him, she always did, unlike Molly.

"No," he assured her. "I suppose it could have been much worse, if I had not been found in time."

"Found?"

"By people like Professor Dumbledore," he said. "And like Molly. . . Mrs. Weasley."

His eye caught an old trunk, no doubt filled with outgrown school clothes, against the wall, and he took a seat on one side, expecting Buffy to remain standing. Instead, she sat down beside him, not bothering to look him in the face as he spoke.

She took a breath. "Ok, more please."

"I haven't lied to you, Buffy, not when it's come to my past. But I did omit certain details. And before you ask again, no I did not go to a school for wizards, at least not as a student. Do you remember what I told you about the different kinds of magic?"

"Wand wavy and non-wand wavy," she quickly answered. "So, you're not hiding a really skinny stake anywhere?"

"Contrary to popular belief, no." He smirked, "And my mathematical skills are quite satisfactory as well. My dealings with actual magic didn't truly begin until I was in college. During my Ripper days. I'd been exposed to magic as a child, in very small ways, due to my father's work with the Council, but I had never practiced until then. As you know, my family legacy is the Watcher line, and you've probably also guessed that the Council was privy to a great deal of information. When I was a child, my father took me to meet a small number of wand waving wizards, particularly a family who had was petitioning for help from the Council in a fight against a man calling himself Voldemort. The family was the Prewetts, Molly Weasley was, then, their young daughter."

"You were childhood friends?" Buffy asked, suddenly sitting up straighter.

It occurred to Giles that he'd never told her any stories from his childhood, and he'd assumed she wouldn't have found them interesting. Apparently, he was wrong.

"We didn't see each other often, but she wrote me. Molly was a few years older than me, and, because of my ties to the Council, she able to talk very freely with me about her school of magic. It was fascinating, really." Giles smiled fondly. "We, over time, grew somewhat closer to one another. I thought it might develop, but then I got into a fight with my father. I didn't want to be a Watcher, and he told me that if I didn't follow his commands, then I had no business speaking to a witch."

"So, you broke up with her?" Buffy asked, a brow raised. She turned to face him. "Why didn't you just lie to your father?"

Rupert cleaned his glasses with the cloth in his pocket, the heavy frown on his face making him look older. "Yes, that would have been the intelligent approach."

"That's why she was giving you the stink eye?" Buffy smiled knowingly. "I was sort of listening to your fight over my fight. It was very straining on my ears, but I managed," she admitted, abashed.

"I should have assumed as much." He shook his head. "But the answer is no. That's not entirely the reason. After I cut ties with her family, I went on with my life. Eventually I ended up at Oxford and with the wrong crowd."

"Ethan Rayne," the slayer supplied.

"He was one of them. But the choice to participate was my own, Buffy." Giles paused, listening to noises from the scullery's other wall. Molly was shouting for one of her sons. Rupert shook his head and went back to his tale. "There's a very good reason that the wizarding society prefers wands over old magics, Buffy. The older magical forms, as Wiccans like Willow use, like I used in my youth, often require sacrifice of some sort. There's a certain equilibrium that must be met."

Buffy was nodding. "Yeah, I've sorta figured that out," she said, her voice soft.

"The sacrifice is where the power comes in. While I was off dabbling in Oxford, Lord Voldemort was rising, slowly gaining followers. He became interested in what was termed "muggle magic". He sent a few of his followers out to find practicing warlocks in the muggle world. By some misfortune, the stumbled upon my little group of deviants." Giles took a breath, leaning back against the wall. "His Death Eaters were manipulative. They didn't come with violence but deceit, promising us new _highs_, power. Ethan and I were taken to meet their lord."

Giles came to a stop, his eyes dark, clouded. Buffy reached out, clasping on to his hand. "What happened?" she asked.

Rupert's voice was quieter. "We did what he asked, showed him what he wanted to know." He swallowed. "We didn't know what he was, how evil he truly was, until he showed us how he planned to use old magic. He killed, he tortured those who denied him, and we were too afraid to try to run. Thankfully, there was a raid on one of his meeting places. Voldemort, himself, was not there, but several Death Eaters were escorting Ethan and myself. An auror, a wizarding police officer of sorts, was killed, as was a wizard who had stopped to join the fight. His name was Fabian Prewett. He was Molly's brother, though I didn't know it at the time. Ethan and I were left behind by the Death Eaters and captured by the aurors. We were taken to Azkaban for interrogation."

"Azkaban?"

"A wizarding prison," Giles explained, "a wretched place."

Buffy's eyes widened. "You were in prison?"

Rupert raised a brow. "That's the part of the story that surprises you?"

She laughed, somewhat astonished. "Wow. Just wow. But that still doesn't explain how you met Bumblebee and his gang of do-gooders."

"I'm getting there," Giles assured. "The Ministry didn't imprison us for long. They called for our arresting aurors to oblivate us--erase our memories of the experience--and release us back into the muggle world. They did just that to Ethan, but a man named Albus Dumbledore came to me before they could take my memories and asked me if I would like to see more of the world he was fighting to protect. He said that, if I decided afterwards to join the Council, that the Ministry would not be able to lawfully take my memories. He showed me Hogwarts. I met extraordinary individuals in that time, but I didn't get to see Molly again. She, however, had heard of my involvements with Voldemort, of my part in her brother's death."

"Suddenly getting the stink eye," Buffy muttered, her eyes downcast.

Giles went on. "Dumbledore taught me much of what I know about magic and what it was to fight for a safer world." Rupert turned to Buffy. "I owe the man something, Buffy. I would never have been a Watcher if it hadn't been for him. Never would have met you. It was only after he spoke to me that I decided to go back to the Council."

A thud from above drew him from his thoughts. He peered up with a look of confusion on his face. Buffy followed his gaze.

She blinked away her shock. "Is that an ear?"


End file.
